A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. "Good night. ToC Mrs. 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.
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