An old Dutch dresser held china and acted as a sideboard; a bare oak table, having in its centre a large blue bowl filled with berries and red leaves, stood in the middle of the room; eight chairs completed the furniture.
"This is the least nice room in the house," Jean told him, "but we are never in it except to eat.

It looks out on the road." "Yes," said Peter Reid, remembering that that was why his mother had liked it.

She could sit with her knitting and watch the passers-by.

She had always "infused" the tea when she heard the click of the gate as he came home from school.
"You will like to see the living-room," said Jean, shivering for the effect its charm might have on a potential purchaser.

She led him in, hoping that it might be looking its worst, but, as if in sheer contrariness, the fire was burning brightly, a shaft of sunlight lay across a rug, making the colours glow like jewels, and the whole room seemed to hold out welcoming hands.