They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. I don’t conceal it. His car, a black Alfa Romeo, waited at the end of the subdivision. The house was invisible from the road, and yet enormous once within view. 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 know nothing of that young lady.
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