For a long time the house has been to let.
Here, on the left of the doorway, as we enter, is the room, without a shred of furniture in it except the boards of two closed-in beds.

The flooring is not steady, and here and there holes have been eaten into the planks.

You can scarcely stand upright beneath the decaying ceiling.

Worn boards and ragged walls, and the rusty ribs fallen from the fireplace, are all that meet your eyes, but I see a round, unsteady, waxcloth-covered table, with four books lying at equal distances on it.

There are six prim chairs, two of them not to be sat upon, backed against the walls, and between the window and the fireplace a chest of drawers, with a snowy coverlet.