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. ‘Gammon. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. She ran 60 past it with melancholic dread towards the slope that led to the ocean. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother.
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