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. "You needn't go far to do that," returned Quilt; "there he stands. I will permit you to rescue me. While he was thus occupied, he felt a rough grasp upon his arm, and presently afterwards Ben's lips approached close to his ear. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Promise me one thing before I leave you.
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