Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. 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 attendant did not understand him. He held down the light, and a moment afterwards beckoned, with a blanched cheek, to Rowland.
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