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 had dreaded the beginning of this hour. "Pah! He's a fool. "I see him!—row for your life!" "That's the way to miss him, master," replied Ben coolly. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip.
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