Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. "Lost no time on the road—eh!—I didn't expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. I’m glad I did. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. 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. "I thought we were going to have some music," she said. This I have sworn to do—this I will do.
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