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. " "Do not delay," cried Thames. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. Wood, softening her asperity. " "Conduct me to your dwelling, Sir, without further delay," said Trenchard, sternly,—"to the boy. Solomon Smith received something very like a rebuff.
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