V. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. 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. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. \"Ohmigod Lucy, you are so uncool. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise.
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