In a dream too there was that sense of inevitability, of treading unaccustomed ways with an assured, accustomed tread that was with him now.

The old woman who had conducted him stopped at a door, hidden by the dusk, and knocked.

She opened it and wheezed out-- "Mr.Dune, m'am;" and then, standing back for him to pass, left him inside.
As the door closed he was instantly conscious of an overwhelming desire for air, a longing to fling open the little diamond-paned window.

The ceiling was very low and a fierce fire burned in the fireplace.

There was little furniture, only a huge white bed hovered in the background.
Olva was conscious of a dark figure lying on a low chair by the fire, a figure that gave you instantly those long white hands and those burning eyes and gave you afterwards more slowly the rest of the outline.