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Truly, madly DP: eight degrees of separation
The temperature, we were told, was set at precisely 20 ºC, but it felt peculiarly cooler than that as our party walked into the shadowy dining hall of an immaculate château in Reims. As we found our places around a grand table laid for supper, a chill feeling prickled across the skin, raising goosebumps, in anticipation of what awaited us. The heavy furnishings, the flickering chandeliers, the dark October sky, the wise old stone walls - everything evoked the spirit of a Gothic horror. Or perhaps I shouldn't have been reading The Turn of the Screw on my way there. In any case, the spell was soon broken by the incongruously modern...
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