incense-laden

He had been half-afraid he would find a shadowy, incense-laden room stocked with strange herbs and candles.

Sharp Edges Jayne Ann Krentz 1998

She concentrated on the spicy scent of the incense-laden air, of the texture of the soft fabric under her hands, of her own weight resting on the cushion to steady herself.

Elvenblood Lackey, Mercedes 1995

Antryg's voice was low in the incense-laden hush of the over-decorated room.

The Silent Tower Hambly, Barbara 1986

He walked slowly down the passageway, the air strangely incense-laden.

Tai-Pan Clavell, James 1966

Old German and Flemish ballads borrow quaint anachronisms from that sylvan sanctuary of incense-laden sweetness, which coloured the thoughts and dreams of contemporary poets, and added exotic traits to their descriptions of northern scenery.

Through the Malay Archipelago Emily Richings

Its romance had gone; the weird mystery of the Oriental city had lost its fascination; and no incense-laden, music-haunted, brightly-coloured corner remained unexplored.

The Tale of a Trooper 1930

All day long, too, from before the peep of dawn till after darkness has fallen, these red-cloaked monks hold services in the dim incense-laden air of the great Machindranath temple, the cathedral of Lhasa; and thither they crowd thrice a day to receive their doles of tea and soup and money.

Chapter 57. Public Scapegoats. § 3. The Periodic Expulsion of Evils in a Material Vehicle 1922

All day long, too, from before the peep of dawn till after darkness has fallen, these red-cloaked monks hold services in the dim incense-laden air of the great Machindranath temple, the cathedral of Lhasa; and thither they crowd thrice a day to receive their doles of tea and soup and money.

The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion 1922

But I love the gold and the silk which clothe the priest of Rome, and his celibacy, and the confessional, and purgatory: and in the darkness of an Italian cathedral, incense-laden and mysterious, I believe with all my heart in the miracle of the Mass.

Of Human Bondage 1919

She pushed open the greasy, shining leather door, passed into the interior, and stood for a moment in the incense-laden gloom of the nave.

The Bent Twig Dorothy Canfield Fisher 1918