" Not many days after this event, on a bright October morning, the bells rang a merry peal from the old gray tower of Willesden church. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. But be very careful not to let him know. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. He would require things of her, and she would be passionately concerned to meet his requirements. 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. It reverberated in the silence. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed.
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