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. She was the consummate mother, even when extremely tired, she missed nothing. "Your master wants a few table-spoons, child," said Mrs. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. The late afternoon, en effet.
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