She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. “What else can happen?” asked Miss Miniver, with a little weak gesture at the glow. Well, you shall know.
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