As a matter of fact, I had never spoken to him before in my life. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. 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. ‘And so?’ she asked.
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