A few days later, I found myself in Duke Dickens' study — a place that always evoked a special feeling in me. Here, the air seemed to be saturated with time: the smell of old books and dust soaked into the bindings mingled with the tart aroma of tobacco smoke left over from his morning pipe.
The study looked impressive and almost intimidating: heavy bookcases reaching up to the ceiling, a massive dark wood desk with elegant carvings around the edges, bundles of letters and documents neatly stacked in piles. In the center of it all sat Duke William Dickens himself, a man whose presence was impossible to ignore.
His figure, clad in an elegant dark blue frock coat with gold buttons, seemed even more imposing thanks to the rays of the morning sun streaming through the heavy velvet curtains. These rays gilded his scarlet locks, adding to his grandeur.
