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\" \"I'm sorry I didn't call. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. I wish she wouldn’t look like that at us over her glasses. 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. Marry, come up! I've been a great deal too charitable. “That is your sister’s name. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side.
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