" "Both are dead," observed the knight, gloomily. Tight. "I understand," replied Rowland. 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 made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me.
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