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She owed the nun a great deal, including her command of English, for no one else thought to ensure she could speak her mother tongue. Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself. “I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. But, no. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. That might happen on her birthday—in August.
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