” “Lucy, my disbelief remains in suspension. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. 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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