‘Then open it quickly. 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. There are pretty much three types, those that accept, and those who run away, and those who fight. ‘I should never have told you. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. You DO use vile language!” “Forget about it like this. “The things involved in it are,” he answered gravely. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink.
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