There is the key. 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. "Hell's curses!" muttered Jonathan between his teeth; "that fool will ruin all. Hear me then, now, before I take one step to establish my origin, or secure my rights. The bliss had lasted one hundred and forty years, far more than an entire mortal lifetime. Now it occurred to him that to show her the sealed letter would be a better way. Fifteen from forty is twenty-five. Wood from pressing his suit long ago.
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