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. \" He piped up. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. “Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said. —"Stay! something occurs to me. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently.
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