The police suspect arson, as burnt matches were found in the attic.
I used to describe those permanently Shadowed regions as kind of like the dusty attic of the solar system.
His cellar-to-attic survey of his beloved house covers the habits, gadgets and techniques that have allowed mankind to move from cave to hovel to mansion.
I also had the fantasy of playing in the NHL, luckily I was never destined to be a Hockey star and retired the goalie pads to the attic in high school.
Pigeons peeped in from the window of the attic.
He was kicked out of another school for removing all the furniture and stuffing it into the attic.
Ensor made his artist's studio in the attic of his family's home, where his mother ran a souvenir shop selling beach trinkets and masks for the annual carnival.
By the end, she is incarcerated in an attic room, in a cold foreign country, but still dreaming of "the smell of vetivet and frangipani, of cinnamon and dust and lime trees".
The girl opened the window of the attic, the sun rushed in, warm, stroking her face.
I boxed up all the silly stuff, writing and acting and goofing about, and threw it in an attic somewhere.
The top alone of the Corinthe facade suffered; the window on the first floor, and the attic window in the roof, riddled with buck-shot and biscaiens, were slowly losing their shape.
Tess had heard those notes in the attic above her head.
I boxed up all the silly stuff, writing and acting and goofing about, and threw it in an attic somewhere. I shut the door. I moved on.
It's kind of like digging through somebody's attic, definitely.
He was an old emigre gentleman, blind and penniless, who was playing his flute in his attic, in order to pass the time.
This window, an attic window, was on the roof of a six-story house situated a little beyond the barricade.
Valuable goods have been taken from thoughout the house, from basement to attic.
Sometimes a moonbeam will slip through the cold rain on the attic window and brush aside a cobweb.
I unearthed the portrait from the attic.
In the fall of 1991, I stood with Steve Packard in one of his treasures — what he called a "Rembrandt found in the attic" — at the edge of a suburban Chicago woods.
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