beedingwood | following the footsteps of john harris
The house was in a dreadful state, the worst building I’d thus far ventured to. The central portion of the
building had collapsed onto the porch, leaving a gaping, mortal wound in its heart. In most buildings, this
utter devastation would fix your eye; but here it was almost lost in the remaining structures, shapes and
styles which cluttered and jostled for position around the gaping hole.