This, with one notable exception, was all the furniture.
The exception--which turned me cold--was the form of a yellow mastiff dog, curled on a mat beneath the table.

The arch of his back was towards me, and one forepaw lay over his nose in a natural posture of sleep.

I leant back on the wainscotting with my eyes tightly fixed on him, and my thoughts sneaking back, with something of regret, to the storm I had come through.
But a man's habits are not easily denied.

At the end of three minutes the dog had not moved, and I was down on the door-mat unlacing my soaked boots.

Slipping them off, and taking them in my left hand, I stood up, and tried a step towards the stairs, with eyes alert for any movement of the mastiff; but he never stirred.