But she perceived that to tell Manning of her Ramage adventures as they had happened would be like tarring figures upon a water-color. ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. 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. ” “What else,” Lady Lescelles murmured, “are men for?” Anna laughed. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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