The evenings were dulcet and soft. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. He was a Canton guide, highly educated, having been graduated from Yale University. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. And you promised to tell me. “If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile. 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. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague.
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