And it's uncanny. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. And, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood. 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. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy. She didn’t choose her man. " "That he is," added Blueskin, approvingly. Where's Marvel?" "Here, Sir," replied the executioner. “I thought we had discussed that, father. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light.
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