"Pretty, but with the smell of ..." he repeated mentally.

For him all feminine perfume merited this scandalous title.

Good women smelled of fish and kitchen pots; he was sure of that....

In his faraway youth, the knowledge of poor Caragol had never gone beyond that.
As soon as he was alone, he snatched up a rag, waving it violently around, as though he were driving away flies.

He wished to clear the atmosphere of bad odors.