Then suddenly her spirit rose in revolt. “To be frank with you, Lady Lescelles, when your brother asked me the other day to be his wife I was under a false impression as regards his relations—with some other person. The truth was impossible, indecent. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. 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. Besides, I'm afraid her simple honesty will spoil any invented yarn. Just a formal marriage.
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