Through the thick boughs overhead the sunlight reached them only in specks and flakes, the wind was but as a distant sea in the branches, and Falbe rolled over on to his face, and sniffed at the aromatic leaves with the gusto with which he enjoyed all that was to him enjoyable.
"Ah; that's good, that's good!" he said.

"How I love smells--clean, sharp smells like this.

But they've got to be wild; you can't tame a smell and put it on your handkerchief; it takes the life out of it.

Do you like smells, Comber ?" "I--I really never thought about it," said Michael.
"Think now, then, and tell me," said Falbe.

"If you consider, you know such a lot about me, and, as a matter of fact, I know nothing whatever about you.