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Eight-and-twenty years,’ said I, ‘I have lived, and never a ghost have I seen as yet.’The old woman sat staring hard into the fire, her pale eyes wide open.’Ay,’ she broke in; ‘and eight-and-twenty years you have lived and never seen the likes of this house, I reckon. There’s a many things to see, when one’s still but eight-and-twenty.’ She swayed her head slowly from side to side. ‘A many things to see and sorrow for.’ (“The Red Room”)