Stella sat back down at her mother’s brown oak desk. From this vantage point she could see the lab where her mother was mixing an ointment in the emulsifier, one of those hi-tech mixers. To her mother’s right were shelves with brown bottles that had names on them like pasta zinci mollis, which sounded like something delicious from your favorite Italian restaurant, but was really a paste made from zinc and used to fight diaper rash. Yuck.
— Stella and the Golden Thread