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. "It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. Her head snapped back as he grabbed her by the hair. "Off with it to the health of King James the Third, and confusion to his enemies!" "Hold!" interposed Wood; "that is treason. " "My conscience acquits me of all share in the offence," replied Jack, humbly.
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