Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. 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. “Indeed,” she said, “I would not. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. (“No, no. I can be that man, the one I know you want. Only your pa knew as how I were the one as saw to you at the wet-nurse’s cottage, and he got a-hold of me and made me bring him to you.
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