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. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. Even if he were an old friend, you couldn't afford to do it.
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