She closed the door, went into the "living-room" absently, and stared vaguely at one of the old brown-plush rocking-chairs there.

Upon her forehead were the little shadows of an apprehensive reverie, and her thoughts overlapped one another in a fretful jumble.

"What will he think?
These old chairs--they're hideous.

I'll scrub those soot-streaks on the columns: it won't do any good, though.

That long crack in the column--nothing can help it.