Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. 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. Having seen him heavily ironed, and placed in the Condemned Hold, Jonathan recrossed the street. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform.
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