The Distant Ghost
The banquet hall smelled of roasted duck and old stone, a heavy, cloying scent that clung to the hair and the wool of the coats. It was the annual charity gala for the St. Jude’s Orphanage, held in the grandest ballroom of the city, where the air was thick with the perfume of lilies and the quiet, aggressive hum of wealth. Arthur Penhaligon stood near the edge of the room, his hands tucked into...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima