The Distant Journey
The banquet hall of the Holloway estate smelled of roasted pheasant, spiced wine, and the heavy, suffocating scent of lilies that lined the windowsills in thick, unbroken rows. It was a night of excessive warmth, the air thick with the perspiration of the guests and the low, thrumming hum of conversation that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of one’s bones. Margaret stood at the periphery of the...
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