Cathy reached out and touched Lucy’s chin with her two fingers, gently commanding her attention. "Here, Caliban, go and fasten his padlock. 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. It is not at all comme il faut. " "Curse you!" cried Jack, furiously,—"curse you!—curse you!" "Swear away, Captain," rejoined Blueskin, coolly.
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