One of my favouritest books as a teenager included someone sending a bone pendant (actually a broken half of one) to their OTL, and he is delighted when he realises he can still smell her rose-oil perfume on it. Even aged 14 my first thought was "but you hid it inside an orange! It is not going to smell of anything other than orange!".
Despite the utter naffness of that particular scene, it's a decent book really (M. M. Kate, The Far Pavilions).
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Despite the utter naffness of that particular scene, it's a decent book really (M. M. Kate, The Far Pavilions).