“A tall blonde entered the room, wearing a yellow sash that marked her as advocate. Two men followed her, carrying papers. She was lean and long-legged, with a graceful neck and nice ankles, and William took a minute to watch her come down the aisle. She looked high-strung and difficult. Still, good legs.Mmm, smelled of mimosa, too. Expensive scent. Cerise smelled better, when clean.”

“They did look tough - and tall. One girl in particular had legs like stilts. She was bent down, touching her toes with her ankles crossed. She looked like a grazing giraffe.”

“Those are pretty," She commented, leaning down to smell the flowers. "They're from Violette," I said, watching for her reaction. "They look like weeds," she replied, straightening.”

“But in the closeness of the sewing room, Simon can smell her as well as look at her. He tries to pay no attention but her scent is a distracting undercurrent. She smells like smoke; smoke, and laundry soap, and the salt from her skin; and she smells of the skin itself, with its undertone of dampness, fullness, ripeness - what? Ferns and mushrooms; fruits crushed and fermenting.”

“As she took a deep breath, all she smelled was him, the scent going in her nose and blooming all over her body.Bastard, she thought. Irresistible bastard”

“Francie looked at her legs. They were long, slender, and exquisitely molded. She wore the sheerest of flawless silk stockings, and expensively made high-heeled pumps shod her beautifully arched feet. "Beautiful legs, then, is the secret of being a mistriss," concluded Francie. She looked down at her own long thin legs. "I'll never make it, I guess." Sighing , she resigned herself to a sinless life.”