But they had been young once. The odor of their armpits
and haunches had mingled into a lovely musk; their eyes had
been furtive, their lips relaxed, and the delicate turn of their
heads on those slim black necks had been like nothing other
than a doe’s. Their laughter had been more touch than
sound.
Then they had grown. Edging into life from the back
door. Becoming.
- The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison
