At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. 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. "What's become of Ruth?" "Gone to her room. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp. "You were saying—?" "I started to say something; that is all. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year.
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