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Henderson has a low, armless sofa with a soft bench cushion in his own living room, which he put next to a wing chair.

But that didn’t mean Ophie was alone: a little girl with pale blond braids and a pinafore sat curled up in a wing chair, reading a book.

More and more often, I settle into a shabby, cat-clawed wing chair with the day’s newspapers and periodically snort “Harrumph!” or grumble that the world is going to hell in a handbasket.

He looked snug in a blue wing chair in a corner of his house.

He was standing against a backdrop of leather-bound books, a globe, a vintage chandelier and what looked like a leather wing chair.