She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. 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. I’ve muddled all this business. We can’t. Attempts were made upon the door of the Lodge; but it was too strong to be forced. Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently.
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