The old room was familiar, but something seemed out of place. she peered in through the twilight gloom, examining each detail from the safety of the hallway. the china cabinet was neat and dusted, and a bowl of fresh flowers was placed precisely in the middle. that was as it should be, as long as aunt susan was alive. the corner clock ticked ominously through the evening dusk, five minutes slow as usual. waiting to be lit, the candles were stationed like sentinels at either end of the sideboard that stood opposite the hallway door. the supper table was in its winter spot before the fireplace on the right wall. even the wood was laid on the hearth waiting to be kindled. the room looked like this every evening at five o'clock. cautiously, she stepped into her aunt's dining room. the old bench was against the wall behind her to the right. and to the left . . she gasped. it was open. the old trap door was open! what is this paragraph's organization? simple listing. chronological order. order of importance. spatial order.

What are two themes in ted chiang’s “exhalation”?

Whos a good poet to listen to? i got back into shane koyczan and i'm wondering if anything else is out there.

In this excerpt from "quality" by john galsworthy, which two parts clearly indicate the literary point of view of the essay? that tenement had a certain quiet distinction; there was no sign upon its face that he made for any of the royal family—merely his own german name of gessler brothers; and in the window a few pairs of boots. i remember that it always troubled me to account for those unvarying boots in the window, for he made only what was ordered, reaching nothing down, and it seemed so inconceivable that what he made could ever have failed to fit. had he bought them to put there? that, too, seemed inconceivable. he would never have tolerated in his house leather on which he had not worked himself. besides, they were too beautiful—the pair of pumps, so inexpressibly slim, the patent leathers with cloth tops, making water come into one's mouth, the tall brown riding boots with marvellous sooty glow, as if, though new, they had been worn a hundred years. those pairs could only have been made by one who saw before him the soul of boot—so truly were they prototypes incarnating the very spirit of all foot-gear. these thoughts, of course, came to me later, though even when i was promoted to him, at the age of perhaps fourteen, some inkling haunted me of the dignity of himself and brother. for to make boots—such boots as he made—seemed to me then, and still seems to me, mysterious and wonderful.