We were talking with a young friend about the dangers of smoking just last night.
Here is Woolf, during WWI, thanking a friend for cigarettes and joking about the difficulty of getting them and the nosy tobacconist who worries over selling them to a young friend:
“I ought to have thanked you for your efforts about the cigarettes, I hear that its almost impossible to get them, and it says much for Barbara [Hiles], and rehabilitates (in part) the intellect of the younger generation, that in spite of this she found out the last 2 packets in England and ran them to earth; but I was pleased to hear how the tobacconist spotted her youth and innocence and warned her against such strong smokes. Its really no good wearing corduroy trousers when even a tobacconist sees through one.” (L 2.181; 18 September 1917; to Saxon)
Let's cast our minds back to that day when women rarely wore pants and have that lovely last line again: "Its really no good wearing corduroy trousers when even a tobacconist sees through one."