"They are extraordinary and magnificent when they walk in pairs along the hall's semi-circular promenade, powdered and rouged, their eyes drowned in a blur of pale blue, their lips shaped in a loud red, the bosom projected forward over a tightly laced waist, blowing a wisp of opopanax - while they fan themselves - which blends with the powerful aroma of their underarms and the very delicate perfume of a dying flower in their corsage."
J.K. Huysmans, Parisian Sketches, trans. Richard Griffiths, Fortune Press, 1960
