“I do not know you,” she said coldly. ‘You do not try. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. " Aware apparently in some degree, of the mistake she had committed, the poor maniac sprang towards him with frantic violence, and planted her long nails in his cheek. It was enough. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed.
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