The day is already half over. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. The odd creak was not to be avoided in an old house such as this. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk.
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