She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. 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. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across. I hardly see you anymore.
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