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 never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. Taking off his stockings, he then drew up the basils as far as he was able, and tied the fragments of the broken chain to his legs, to prevent them from clanking, and impeding his future exertions. “Anna! Thank God I have found you at last. I am always reinventing myself with new styles.
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