Anna admitted the fact. “My dad is into this stuff. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features. Not even for Ruth could he do such a beastly thing. 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. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. So Ruth found that for a while her eyes were free. Eight per cent.
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