"I could smell the meat from a mile away. And so much of it."
The speaker was a thin, elderly gentleman. His face was pale, his eyes sunken. His lips, and the corners of his mouth, were covered in bloody cracks. His sparse hair was more white than black, and he was so gaunt he was little more than skin and bones, like a skeleton.
He wore a faded, washed-out Mao suit, covered in patches. Yet, it was clean and neat, and you could even see faint creases in the fabric. The old gentleman sat ramrod straight, his eyes as bright as a beacon, and his entire being radiated an air of uncommon distinction.
"The Thorne family sent this over. It's five or six pounds of meat. Please, Mr. Tate, have some more."
Rosalind Green said cheerfully, using a pair of serving chopsticks to place a plump, thick slice of meat on the old gentleman's plate. Most people these days prefer lean meat, but back then, it was the glistening, fatty cuts that were most prized.
