Crozier's mind immediately zeros in on the same thought - he'd smell like Rama if he wore his aftershave. He'd be on his skin, wrapped up in his scent like a coat that clings to him for days. He leans forward and inhales the warm, woody scent; it says Rama through and through, heat and earth, familiar and exotic.

"I like it very much," he murmurs, excited at the idea of sharing something like this with him. It's Ram's from home, something personal and special to him, and he wants Crozier to wear it. It's a piece of civilization, a little bit of luxury, smelling like something other than just being clean.