She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. 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. The occasion of all this confusion and dismay, meanwhile, remained perfectly motionless; his figure erect, and with somewhat of dignity in his demeanour. ” He glanced over at her cockeyed, and then returned his gaze to the road.
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