She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. ’ ‘And you do not know me. She winked at him as he shut the door. “You do not know what you say. Inhuman as he is, he would not kill her. “You must not think of me as one. 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. But not so much a pig as that man. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you.
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