Inside there was for a moment an illusion of entirety. The narrow
corridor that ran through the centre of the house was weatherproof.
But through some unseen gap rushed the wind of the night. At the
right, warm with lamplight, was the reception room, dining room and
bedroom--one small chamber about twelve by fifteen!
What a strange room it was, furnished with odds and ends from the
shattered houses about! A bed in the corner; a mattress on the floor;
a piano in front of the shell-holed windows, a piano so badly cracked
by shrapnel that panels of the woodwork were missing and keys gone;
two or three odd chairs and what had once been a bookcase, and in the
centre a pine table laid for a meal.
Mrs. K----, whose uncle was a cabinet minister, was hurrying in with a
frying-pan in her hand.
"The mutton!" she said triumphantly, and placed it on the table,
frying-pan and all. The other lady of the decoration followed with the
potatoes, also in the pan in which they had been cooked.
We drew up our chairs, for the mutton must not be allowed to get cold.
"It's quite a party, isn't it?" said one of the hostesses, and showed
us proudly the dish of fruit on the centre of the table, flanked by
bonbons and nuts which had just been sent from England.
True, the fruit was a little old and the nuts were few; but they gave
the table a most festive look.
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