But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. “Please come home. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause. 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'm always shy the price of the ticket home.
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