’ Total bullshit, if you ask me. 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. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. " "That I'll engage not to do. Anna admitted the fact. .
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