Chesney Wold is shut up, carpets are rolled into great scrolls in corners of comfortless rooms, bright damask does penance in brown holland, carving and gilding puts on mortification, and the Dedlock ancestors retire from the light of day again. Around and around the house the leaves fall thick, but never fast, for they come circling down with a dead lightness that is sombre and slow. Let the gardener sweep and sweep the turf as he will, and press the leaves into full barrows, and wheel them off, still they lie ankle-deep. Howls the shrill wind round Chesney Wold; the sharp rain beats, the windows rattle, and the chimneys growl. Mists hide in the avenues, veil the points of view, and move in funeral-wise across the rising grounds. On all the house there is a cold, blank smell like the smell of a little church, though something dryer, suggesting that the dead and buried Dedlocks walk there in the long nights and leave the flavour of their graves behind them.

Chesney Wold is shut up, carpets are rolled into great scrolls, bright damask is covered in brown dust-sheets, and the Dedlock ancestors retire from the light of day again. Around the house the leaves fall thick, but never fast, for they come circling down with a dead lightness that is sombre and slow. No matter how much the gardener sweeps up, still they lie ankle-deep. Howls the shrill wind round Chesney Wold; the sharp rain beats, and the windows rattle. Mists hide in the avenues, veil the views, and move funeral-wise across the grounds. On all the house there is the cold, blank smell of a church, suggesting that the dead and buried Dedlocks walk there in the long nights and leave the flavour of their graves behind them.
