“The outward exhalation of the bar’s air was full of smells Locke knew quite well: a hundred kinds of liquor and the breath of the men and women drinking them, sweat both stale and fresh, piss and vomit, spiced pomanders and wet wool, the sharp bite of ginger and the acrid fog or tobacco.” The words flow smoothly one to the next and leave a clear and colorful mental imagine.
— Dec 01, 2025 06:18AM
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