She could smell his sweat, clean and fresh as a child's.

She could smell them: water, bad fish, and old sweat.

She could smell the polish she'd used on the coffee table just that morning, and her own sweat.

The bodies were still warm and he could smell their dried sweat.

He moves close to her; she can smell sour sweat, feel the heat of his body.

He was breathing heavily and to my surprise I could smell his sweat.

He could smell his own scared sweat over the odor of dead animals.

He could smell her body, a compound of clean woman flesh and light sweat.

He could almost smell the villain's sweat on the envelope.

In the motionless air, he can smell his own sweat from the restless, hot night.