The wings stopped. 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. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. ” “It was a mistake,” she faltered. Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. Lucy sighed, finding it odd to switch roles as she had over the past weeks. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing.
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