“I am lonely. ’ ‘I find that difficult to believe,’ snapped the general, jerking to and fro as his agitation mounted. I'd like to be alone now. 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. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position.
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