’ She bit her lip, but her eyes betrayed her. Could she go through with it? She must. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. All right really. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. 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. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. .
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