Monsieur Charvill, he has not the means to choose different. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. I want him as my friend. 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. She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to rise and fly. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. Let us be friends—as near and close as friends can be.
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