We open a
door out of the dim corridor, and enter a room with three more houses
seated round its walls. The sense of animation rises with the warmth and
brightness of the fire which roars in the grate. We collect the lists,
and move on to another and another room, till we have seen the last of
the eleven houses in a severely simple servants'-hall on the basement
floor. Thence we return to the wind and rain outside.
If we came here at dinner-time, we should see the housemaster at the head
of his table, and his wife or members of his family at the other end. The
scene would be quite wanting in the picturesque, but no sense of comfort
would make amends for it. For it is dark, especially in the centre of
the corridor, and the carver of those vast joints never knows when he
will strike his elbow against the walls or passers-by; while the
incidence of draughts is clearly enough defined by here and there a coat-
collar turned up in self-defence; for neither the glass front door, nor
the wooden porch, nor our massive porter can effectually keep out the
weather.
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