She moved a little nearer to him. "It is never too late. 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. “I’m covered. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. There was nothing to be learned from her face. When she awoke, she felt sick, her mouth still salty with blood.
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