" "You had better write them for me, Mr. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. "I'm my own master now, and I'll do as I please. My late husband, I mean. 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. The burden of decision had been transferred. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg.
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