Gregory went to the kitchen, where the smell of fried fish was increasingly pungent, and boiled some metallic-smelling water in the kettle. Opening the tea cupboard hit him with a variety of wonderful smells: rosehip, earl grey, chamomile, lavender, raspberry, cinnamon… This was his brainchild, a kind of revenge for the hideous carpeting Pollux insisted on. He picked out a berry tea bag, filled a mug with hot water and dunked it in.

The sweet aroma was captivating. Gregory stood there, smelling, with his eyes firmly closed, because the sight of the red seeping out of the tea bag was always alarming.


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