“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. 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. ‘What is it?’ asked Roding. ” “Everything goes well with me,” he said, folding his arms under him and regarding Ann Veronica with the slightly projecting eyes wide open.
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