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. ‘Got you!’ ‘You!’ Stunned, Melusine moved quickly away from the tell-tale bookshelf. " "Why, surely you don't think your guests would steal them," observed Rachel, archly. It was the first expression of the mother's blood.
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