The Golden Cellar
The banquet hall of the Whitmore estate was a cavern of mahogany and dust, illuminated by the harsh, buzzing hum of fluorescent tubes that had not been replaced in decades. It was a celebration of tenure, a ritual of recognition for Dr. Arthur Hale, a man whose face had begun to resemble the parchment pages of the journals he had spent forty years editing. The air smelled of stale roasting meat...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen