I hoped for a family like the Becks and I waded through the system until I got them, so maybe life isn’t so damn hopeless after all. As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and to everybody throughout the whole of the meal—tonight he was almost silent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna. 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. “He dissembles,” he said.
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