Chesney Wold is shut up, carpets are rolled into great scrolls
in comfortless rooms

Yet the blinds are raised and sunlight streams into the rooms
readings will take place

In all parts of the window were quantities of dirty bottles

I live in a world without glass, the winds ravage my endless days
I drink from the gutters

Not a rustle of the housekeepers dress, not a gesture, not a word betrays her

Do ghosts imagine the living or do the living imagine ghosts ?

Purchased in the summer of 2012 a copy of the novel much damaged by water