“My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. ‘They lived with him, one after the other, for all the world as his wife. 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. Luckily it was so dark, and there was no lamp near, that the man did not notice the condition of the body, which was placed in the vehicle by the two young men. I do swear. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips.
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