“What’s that smell?” she said, as he held out an arm and she took it. “Oh, lovely, that’s just what a person likes to hear in lieu of greeting.” “No, it’s—it’s nice,” Gwen said quickly, eager to keep the hard-won peace. “You smell like something … I don’t know, musky. And kind of like—a tree?” “Kind of like a tree,” Arthur repeated despairingly. “It’s orange and sandalwood. You pain me. Kind of like a tree.” “What part of anything you just said doesn’t come from a tree?” Gwen said indignantly.
