Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. 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. This woman, contrary to his custom, he answered. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. We were to live in some wretched London suburb.
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