‘It is of no use to try to stop me. You understand that term?” Ann Veronica smiled faintly. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. 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.
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