I mystify you; I can see that. 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 to marry now,” she said, “it would be with a sense of humiliation. How long he continued thus he scarcely knew; but just before dawn, he managed to regain his legs, and, crawling up a bank, perceived he was within a quarter of a mile of Tottenham. To preserve herself, however, from destitution, or what she considered worse, she wedded a journeyman carpenter, named Sheppard. Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father.
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