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He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. ‘As to that, I am a devil, say the nuns. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. So it was with Gosse, who had wanted to marry her.
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