” They went on for a time without another word. Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. Sheppard, again arresting his departure. 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.
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