This was what Churchill had said, originally referring to those who were tormented by depression, but also a reflection of other phenomena in the human soul.
The city seemed to be enveloped in darkness, and this darkness came from within people.
Xu Shuo arrived on the third floor, where Qiuzi lived; the stairwell reeked of decay, especially pungent on rainy days.
He took out a key from his backpack; it took several attempts to turn the rusty key in the lock before the old iron door creaked open. The room was dim and damp, and occasionally the sound of dripping water would come from the bathroom.
Not a great place to live, really.
Xu Shuo turned on the dim lights to reveal a small one-bedroom apartment. The table was covered with leftover food from lunch, the fats not yet solidified due to the heat of summer, creating a rather strange odor in the tightly shut room.
However, it was a room that looked run-down but was relatively clean and tidy.