carriage house

We live in a 100-year-old house, and I work in an apartment above the carriage house.

I was almost breathless at my laptop, upstairs in the bedroom of the carriage house while Eliza worked on her novel a floor below.

So he found himself shortly in the carriage-house, from which everything on wheels had been run outside into the farmyard.

He had counted five carriages in the carriage-house, fifteen horses in the stables, and Heaven knows how many servants.

He was found in the carriage-house—a little bundle of indignation—getting ready to drive down town.

Back of it was a flower garden, a vegetable garden, barns, carriage house and a useful little green-house.

It was a beautiful April day and the doors of the carriage house and the big door of the barn were wide open.