"We must change the subject," remarked Thornhill, pausing in his task; "this will never do. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. He doesn’t know where she is, and I told him he’d have to apply to Remenham’s lawyers if he wanted anything to do with this place. 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. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination. " Spurlock closed his eyes. I wouldn’t even have to use very much gasoline. "Stay!" interposed Jonathan.
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