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Sheppard, who seemed to be crouching upon the floor. There is no further hope. Yet she never once thought of changing it. 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. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth.
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