” He adjusted his glasses on his nose. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort. 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 blithering idiot!” he exclaimed. "Leave me to my fate," rejoined Jack. You don’t know about Mary because you live in Kent.
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