November dusk which still crept in at the windows and the strong, warm light of the log-fire, rising and fa Qing almost rhythmically in the still air, this old woman, in her perfect immobility, made a singular picture, and, when a second human being entered the room and padded noiselessly across the uneven floor, he added to, rather than detracted from, the odd, dramatic quality of the picture. This second person, who, drew up, unheeded by the old lady, at the opposite side of the fireplace, had seen nearly as many years as she herself, and his peculiarly thick and vital-looking hair was as white as her own. This old man was Mrs. James Dampierre sbutler, Bruno A nselmi, who had been first in the old ladys service, then in that of her son. Captain Jim, and was now, six years after the young mans death, in his widow s. Man and boy, Bruno had obeyed and admired Lady Mary over fifty years. One of die ample Georgian windows was behind the old ladys chair, and between it and her stood a six-foot Cordova leather screen, three-ply and solid. This screen, curving round the wheel-chair, formed what was known to the family as Grandmother s, and to the servants, the Old Lady s, Comer; asked suddenly to write down the phrase, the chances are that, out of the ten members of the household, at least eight would have given the word a capital C, for the comer had become, during the ten years of Lady Mary sinability to move, something between a household shrine and a market-place.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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