Mrs.
Flanders had left her sewing on the table.

There were her large reels of white cotton and her steel spectacles; her needle-case; her brown wool wound round an old postcard.

There were the bulrushes and the Strand magazines; and the linoleum sandy from the boys' boots.

A daddy-long-legs shot from corner to corner and hit the lamp globe.

The wind blew straight dashes of rain across the window, which flashed silver as they passed through the light.