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 untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. But this is not sufficient. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk. Michelle looked at Lucy knowingly.
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