The hour was approaching at which the continental breakfast begins, or rather ceases, to tell, and the ladies bought some hot chestnut paste out of a little shop, because it looked so typical. It tasted partly of the paper in which it was wrapped, partly of hair-oil, partly of the great unknown. (18)

Taste is addressed through the hotel’s signature chestnut paste dessert… and perhaps cupcakes or petit-fours adorned with candied violets?

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