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. " "Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in words," rejoined Jonathan, sternly. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. My eyes are open to you. Earles answered, glibly. Poe is all right, if you don't mind nightmares.
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