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 saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. " And, as the weights were removed, he fainted. Upon which Mrs. He taught her how to read and write in Latin and Greek, often rewarding her for her efforts with a flower or a trinket. When I realized that she was a liar and a mean bitch I broke it off with her for good. \"You're a shoo in.
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