1. It never is. I was mean to him. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. 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. Stanley coughed and faced toward the house. For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe.
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