After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, Thames addressed him. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. "You repeated the word 'Fool' over and over. 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. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. Lucy auditioned on a borrowed violin.
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