“And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. 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. Thus, the same system of plunder was everywhere carried on. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right.
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