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. Play foul, and win. ’ ‘Perhaps you don’t, Hilary,’ Gerald said mildly, smiling at the young lady and indicating one of the wide window seats. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. ‘It will suit me very well that you go away, because you are a person without sense and I do not wish to talk to you.
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