I knew where the electric push button was, though, and I turned on the light.
It used to be an awful room, and it's worse now, on account of its shut-up look.

Before I got the light on, the chairs and sofas loomed up like ghosts in their linen covers.

And when the light did come on, I saw that all the old shiver places were there.

Not one was missing.
Great-Grandfather Anderson's coffin plate on black velvet, the wax cross and flowers that had been used at three Anderson funerals, the hair wreath made of all the hair of seventeen dead Andersons and five live ones--no, no, I don't mean _all_ the hair, but hair from all seventeen and five.

Nurse Sarah used to tell me about it.
Well, as I said, all the shiver places were there, and I shivered again as I looked at them; then I crossed over to Mother's old piano, opened it, and touched the keys.