She smelled good: of soap and good tobacco and a little perfume and just the scent of Yanaba; she smelled like a very appealing woman.

Ángel Zárraga It brought Francis out of his trance. He looked at her. She was a child of seventeen, yet she was as grown-up as all the women of the ages. She had known love and birth and death in her short time on earth and this matured her beyond her limited years. She was a woman and he knew that she was smarter and worldlier than he would ever be. He blushed and his pulse pounded in his ears.
“I, I...” He looked at Yanaba, then away. “Yes.”
She stood up. “Okay, Francis.” She stubbed out her cigarette and kissed him on the cheek. He could smell her. She smelled good: of soap and good tobacco and a little perfume and just the scent of Yanaba; she smelled like a very appealing woman. “Okay.” She walked out.
He lay back on his bed and he could smell her again, on the bedclothes. His head pounded. If he’d a been a little drunk, he’d have asked her to stay, maybe. He thought on that. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t, even though carrying on with Mags made the act the top item on his list of things he liked to do in the world. Being with a woman made everything else seem boring and mundane and commonplace and just not worth doing anymore. Being with a woman was the most fun he’d ever had in his life, and he could have had the same fun with Yanaba and no one would have been the wiser. Allingham