She took a turn for the worse.

[…] and the hanging leaves look clunkily irrelevant, like Christmas decorations.

A low tap was heard at the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyer looked expressively at his friend, and bade the tapper come in[…]

They were the work of the Yprois Taillebert, who, both in stone and wood, has left in his native town and its neighbourhood incontestible proofs of his activity and talent.