She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. “I just wanted you to see that the time will come when I must leave you, and the time is coming soon. 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. Never! And they don’t know it! They have no idea of it. It is not the woman who speaks there.
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