The Distant Journey
The great hall of the Ashworth estate did not smell of decay, as the romantics in the distant cities might have imagined, but rather of a cloying, aggressive sweetness, the scent of over-ripe peaches and beeswax candles that had been left burning for so long that their wax had melted into a thick, amber resin pooling on the stone floor, a viscous trap for the unsuspecting foot and the weary...
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