" "Quarrel with me as much as you please, Thames, but hear me," returned Sheppard. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. It had not tasted good since 1350. Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase.
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