Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. In some cases they were ground almost to powder; in others, driven deeply into the earth, as if discharged from a piece of ordnance. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought.
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