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. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. ” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed. Mrs. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them.
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