"The rain beat steadily upon the roof and dripped from the eaves. The light made distorted shadows upon the wall and floor, while the bunches of herbs hanging from the rafters, swung lightly back and forth when the wind rattled the windows and shook the old house. The room seemed peopled by the previous generation, that had slept in the massive mahogany bed, rocked in the chairs, with sewing or gossip, and stood before the old dresser on tiptoe, peering eagerly into the mirror which probably had hung above it. It was if memory sat at the spinning wheel idly twisting the thread and bringing visions of the years gone by."
(Lavender and Old Lace by Myrtle Reed, Chpt 2, pg. 24)