"What is that?" he asked.
"My 'fumery."
"Your fumery."
"It is. Bertie caught it in a trap."
"That's what I have been smelling all along."
"Yes," said Flora.
"I thought there was a musquash somewhere near."
"It is only me."
She took a prolonged sniff, and restored the precious perfume to her pocket.
"Mamma don't like it, and Grandma don't. I do. And Dinah does. And you do."