" And he hastily related the occurrences in Jonathan Wild's house. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. He was mad. “With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is. 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's public opinion. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. This girl whom he had met by chance and befriended had done both. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen.
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