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. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. " Upon which, he set off in the direction of the entry. " "I've had the hard work to do, at all events," rejoined Jack, "But I won't complain.
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