In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. 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 true. ‘Damnation!’ Confused, he released her, and in an instant she had darted away and was running down the garden. " "Hum!" said Hogarth, looking fixedly at him. He was like a man beside himself. If it were but the question of his reason for marrying her, the solution would have been simple. I spoke a thought aloud.
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