Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. “You are very stupid, Anna,” she said. ’ ‘This, monsieur le major, is entirely your own affair,’ said the lady, haughty again. One only. 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. ’ *** Mrs Chalkney, a long-time friend of the late Mrs Alderley, had been delighted to oblige that lady’s son. She laughed a little bitterly.
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