‘Not all of them,’ insists Vincent, when I mention this. ‘Only the pretty ones.’

Vincent [Leflaive], on the other hand, could never be mistaken for other than he is. His shabbiness in the vineyards at vintage time is that of the gentleman farmer; the inevitable cravat tucked into the collar of his shirt and a handkerchief into the top pocket of a favourite tweed jacket, well worn but evidently well cut. He greets everyone by name and they all respond with a smile of respect and affection. And he kisses all the girls as he greets them. ‘Not all of them,’ insists Vincent, when I mention this. ‘Only the pretty ones.’

S. Loftus, Puligny-Montrachet (1992. New ed. 2019), 227-8