” He handed her the phone reluctantly, barely masking his mild disgust. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. “I believe that he would bore me. 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. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress.
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