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 laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. “With your permission I should like to search the remainder of your rooms.
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