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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. ’ ‘In one little minute,’ she said, snapping her fingers, ‘it is over and voilà tout. On this elevation a table was now placed, around which sat the turnkeys and their guests, regaling themselves on the fragrant beverage provided by the prisoner. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. V. ” John looked at her sympathetically. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead.
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