It would have sounded odd—people have been accused of sorcery for less–if she told someone how much she wanted to take all those little girls home, set them up in the many empty rooms of her house, and whenever she was sad, ask them to play with her. There were many days when she wanted to grab a little girl and hold her in her arms, just to inhale her smell, the smell that these men lacked. Their smells were musty: they smelled of roads and dust and cologne that never quite covered their musk. They smelled of work, of sweat, of other women. But little girls smelled of roses and wet leaves, of talcum powder, and the dew.
-Claire of the Sea Light by Edwidge Danticat