It is open this June morning, and is pervaded by a strong smell of centretable.

The furniture of the room, and the little China ornaments on the mantel-piece, have a constrained, unfamiliar look.

My grandfather sits in a mahogany chair, reading a large Bible covered with green baize.

Miss Abigail occupies one end of the sofa, and has her hands crossed stiffly in her lap.

I sit in the corner, crushed.