“Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. ’ Gerald tutted. ’ ‘Idiot. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. 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.
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