You heard her. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. "On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. 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. Every moment or two he bent over his patient.
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