” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. 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. "If I were so, I should not be here," returned Trenchard. ” “The good God!” Anna murmured, herself shaken with fear. Mrs.
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