“It's then I smell smoke. "You even smoke while you brush your teeth?" She looks at me sideways. "Menthol", she says.”

“Smoke is not chasing me and making my eyes sweat. My eyes are not burning. I am not crying. I am not standing behind my mother and she is not facing the wall and she is not saying, 'Smoke follows beauty.' Smoke follows beauty. Smoke follows beauty. Smoke follows beauty.”

“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.”

“It's late, I'm tired, and your cigarettes are giving me a headache," I growled."I suppose that's fair." He drew in on the cigarette and let out the smoke. "Some women think they make me look sexy.""I think you smoke them so you have something to do while thinking up your next witty line."He choked on the smoke, caught between inhaling and laughing. "Rose Hathaway, I can't wait to see you again. If you're this charming while tired and annoyed and this gorgeous while bruised and in ski clothes, you must be devastating at your peak.”

“YOU DON'T SMELL FIRE," I yelled. YOU SMELL SMOKE.”

“I hate weddings,' she says. 'They make me feel so unmarried. Actually, even brushing my teeth makes me feel unmarried.”