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 worried for Cathy, working double shifts at the nearby family restaurant to help make ends meet. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for. ” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. ’ Martha frowned. ” Anna stood up. ‘And me, I am a lady.
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