From exhalations I learn much about people。 I often know the work they
are engaged in。 The odours of wood； iron； paint； and drugs cling to the
garments of those that work in them。 Thus I can distinguish the
carpenter from the ironworker； the artist from the mason or the chemist。
one place to another I get a scent
impression of where he has been……the kitchen； the garden； or the
sick…room。 I gain pleasurable ideas of freshness and good taste from the
odours of soap； toilet water； clean garments； woollen and silk stuffs；
and gloves。
I have not； indeed； the all…knowing scent of the hound or the wild
animal。 None but the halt and the blind need fear my skill in pursuit；
for there are other things besides water； stale trails； confusing cross
tracks to put me at fault。 Nevertheless； human odours are as varied and
capable of recognition as hands and faces。 The dear odours of those I
love are so definite； so unmistakable； that nothing can quite obliterate
them。 If many years should elapse before I saw an intimate friend again；
I think I should recognize his odour instantly in the heart of Africa；
as promptly as would my brother that barks。
Once； long ago； in a crowded railway station； a lady kissed me as she
hurried by。 I had not touched even her dress。 But she left a scent with
her kiss which gave me a glimpse of her。 The years are many since she
kissed me。 Yet her odour is fresh in my memory。
It is difficult to put into words the thing itself； the elusive
person…odour。 There seems to be no adequate vocabulary of smells； and I
must fall back on approximate phrase and metaphor。
Some people have a vague； un