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They were both dressed in every respect alike. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. ‘Hilary, you must stop referring to mademoiselle as “she”. 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. ‘Just around it, Hilary, that’s all.
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