" With this, she burst into tears, and sank with her face upon his shoulder. If you knew your aunt were alive, if she expected you, that would be different. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. 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. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself.
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