He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. He meditated, and began a new paragraph. ” They talked for a while in somewhat dreamy fashion, Anna especially being more silent than usual. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. 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.
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