The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. "No, no," rejoined Thames; "fly—or I will not answer for your safety. "Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. 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 did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat.
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