A licentious concoction of dry amber, blonde tobacco, naughtily spiced aldehydes, the leather binding of erotic novels, dark chilis provocatively soaked in spiced rum, saffron, white coffee, yuzu, peppered benzoin, and drop of wild honey.
"Have you ever read any of his work?"
"No", said Philip.
"It came out in The Yellow Book."
They looked upon him, as painters often do writers, with contempt because he was a layman, with tolerance because he practised an art, and with awe because he used a medium in which themselves felt ill-at-ease.
Art: Aubrey Beardsley, 1897