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. ” She covered her face with her hands. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. “I could not have stayed in Paris and waited for news. Come down with me to the Lodge directly. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. “I’m not a good woman.
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