Quotation from: Dubliners

Written by: James Joyce

It was not altogether his fault that it had happened. He
remembered well, with the curious patient memory of the celibate,
the first casual caresses her dress, her breath, her fingers had given
him. Then late one night as he was undressing for she had tapped
at his door, timidly. She wanted to relight her candle at his for hers
had been blown out by a gust. It was her bath night. She wore a
loose open combing- jacket of printed flannel. Her white instep
shone in the opening of her furry slippers and the blood glowed
warmly behind her perfumed skin. From her hands and wrists too
as she lit and steadied her candle a faint perfume arose.