“I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. You must have figured that out by now. ’ ‘She again?’ enquired his hostess, her delicate brows rising ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked. "Pigs and fish, to fend off the visitations of the devil.
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