“You have this scent,” Hana said quietly, “I used to think it was your perfume. Joy, nee?” “I still wear that.” “I know,” Hana said, and Etsuko resisted the urge to sniff her own wrists. “It’s not just the perfume, though, it’s all the other creams and things that you wear, and it makes up this smell. I used to walk around department stores wondering what it was. The smell of mama.”
