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 too rose. She pulled away from him, placing her fingers on his lips for a moment. “I wanted to make love to you. To disillusion her, forthwith. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. " "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders.
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