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CHAPTER XXXI. 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. "We have, Captain," replied Blueskin. ” “And made you give up a political meeting,” she reminded him. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. She remained stonily in the middle of the hallway until the spinsters' door shut them from view … for ever. "If I thought he lived——" observed Wood. She looked in the rear-view mirror.
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