Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. "As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence declared. I applaud your prudence: it is, however, needless. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand.
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