George Orwell – “Coming Up for Air”

How I could smell it! You know the smell churches have, a peculiar, dank, dusty, decaying sweetish sort of smell. There’s a touch of candle grease in it, and perhaps a whiff o incense and a suspicion of mice and on Sunday mornings it’s a bit overlaid by yellow soap and serge dresses, but predominantly it’s that sweet dusty musty smell that’s like the smell of death and life mixed up together. It’s powdered corpses, really.