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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. Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink. “Call me Annabel. But it was very hard to follow. His curiosity put itself into a question. I always thought Mrs. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. There is no future for me here. Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s.
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