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F. Wood and Thames pass him, and followed at a foot's pace behind them. A conviction that her sister’s words were true had from the first possessed her. 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. Before I met you I never met any one whom I felt I could love, but you have discovered depths in my own nature I had scarcely suspected. We’re different.
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