CHAPTER XX. Brown had admitted to the orchestra that he had never seen a better dress 247 rehearsal in the twenty-three years he had been teaching at Lincoln. A garrison called to arms at dead of night on the sudden approach of the enemy, could not have been more expeditiously, or effectually aroused. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. 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.
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