” John traced his finger over the meeting point of her breast and her ribcage as they lay naked on his unmade bed. The man was dangerous. “And children must we women bear— “Oh, damn!” she cried, as the hundred-and-first couplet or so presented itself in her unwilling brain. 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. “Not much. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again.
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