Excerpt from The Old Maid, Vol. 4: And Other Stories
It was an old and sordid building; the walls were crumbling to pieces, the grated, iron gates were eaten away by rust, the holes in the broken windows had been mended with Old newspapers, and the ancestral portraits which hung against the walls, showed that it was no tiller Of the soil, nor miserable laborer whose strength had gradually worn out and bent his back, who lived there. Great, knotty elm trees sheltered it, as if they had been a tall, green screen, and a large garden, full Of wild rose-trees and of straggling plants, as well as of sickly-looking vegetables, which sprang up half-with ered from the sandy soil, went down as far as the bank Of the river.
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