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. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. Sheppard had been interred. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. . " "Tush!" cried Thames; "you accused me to skreen yourself. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment.
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