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 doctor's lessons, perhaps delivered with too much serious emphasis, had destroyed that buoyant confidence in her ability to take care of herself. It creaked slightly. There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and then the church. I was being stupid.
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