Woman's smell.

"She sits and listens with crossed legs under the batik house-wrap she wears, with her heavy three-way-piled hair and cigarette at her mouth and refuses me—for the time being, anyway—the most important things I ask of her. It’s really kind of tremendous how it all takes place. You’d never guess how much labor goes into it. Only some time ago it occurred to me how great an amount. She came back from the studio and went to take a bath, and from the bath she called out to me, “Darling, please bring me a towel.” I took one of those towel robes that I had bought at the Bon Marche department store and came along with it. The little bathroom was in twilight. In the auffe eua machine, the brass box with teeth of gas burning, the green metal dropped crumbs inside from the thousand-candle blaze. Her body with its warm woman’s smell was covered with water starting in a calm line over her breasts. The glass of the medicine chest shone (like a deep blue place in the wall), as if a window to the evening sea and not the ashy fog of Paris. I sat down with the robe over my shoulder and felt very much at peace." 

— All Marbles Accounted For, Saul Bellow