How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. It was a different world. 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. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. By instinct.
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