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. She cursed herself for a fool. ’ ‘The nuns?’ she said, gazing at him innocently. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this. . ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered. "I vent to de New Prish'n, and on wishitin' his shel vid de turnkey, vot should ve find but de shains on de ground, de vinder broken, and Jack and Agevorth Besh gone.
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