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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. Ah Cum made a movement as though to follow, but reconsidered. The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. ” “It is for your good—your good only I am thinking,” he declared.
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