“This is a tea made of St. Otthild’s wort,” she explained. “We drink it in the mountains for all things—to ease us when we are wakeful, to soothe us when we are sad. It is even good for women’s troubles,” she confided. “I thought it might calm your nerves after that dreadful incident at the opera. And perhaps give you a little energy as well.” I sipped it and felt myself beginning to relax at once. As a cream for the skin, it had smelt of roses, but the aroma of the tea was similar to our own elderflower, subtle and elusive. It was a gentle concoction, and I thanked her. “There is no need to
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