The Wistful Incense
The air in the sub-basement of the Sterling & Vane Pharmaceutical Distribution Center did not smell of medicine, but of hot plastic and the metallic tang of ozone, a scent that had long since permeated the fibers of Arthur Penhaligon’s work shirt. It was a Tuesday, late October, and the rain lashed against the high, narrow windows in rhythmic sheets, blurring the city skyline into a smear of...
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