“Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. Let’s go on climbing now. “I did it for love of you,” he said. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. ” “Thank you, Jane. \"Cathy says she'll let me stay out past midnight. It was a brief solitude, however. .
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