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. The man pulled up. The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. Jack had no sooner taken his place in the cart, than he was followed by the ordinary, who seated himself beside him, and, opening the book of prayer, began to read aloud. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand.
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