smell of decay

Then he realised the smell of decay was back again.

Once more the air filled with the smell of decay.

Dead leaves were everywhere, heavy with the smell of decay.

As the sun baked down, the smell of decay rose all around him.

The smell of decay was rank, lingering on the air.

With the smell of decay, such a response struck me as obscene.

The spring air poured through the open door, chasing back the smell of decay.

The smell of decay and the certainty that something awful had happened right there was gone.

She supposed they were all properly preserved, but to her the room always smelled of decay.

The smell of decay was ghastly, but you could always hold your nose.

The air was cold and dank, thick with the smell of decay.

Where the smell of decay was strong, violence somehow seemed a natural constituent also.

The room was dark, and the smell of decay assaulted my senses.

It was like handling warm wax which smelled of decay.

The wind tossed leaves into the air and stirred the smell of decay.

There was a smell of decay from the garbage chute.

Otherwise, he would be forced to put his helmet back on; the smell of decay was that strong.

The smell of decay hung heavy in the air.

The fallen leaves faded to silver and there was no smell of decay.

A foul mist rose up from the ground, rank with the smell of decay.

The air smelled of decay, and smoke, and wild things.

The gagging smell of decay began to permeate the room.

The smell of decay and rot seemed to double in my nostrils when I remembered.

There was a smell of decay and a sense of emptiness about the place.