But the love of life prevailed over his fears. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. I saw the motor dashed to pieces against the wall, and I saw him pitched on his head into the road. Now what? There was an interest, or why ask him who they were. 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. If I did not love you so much I believe I could win you by sheer force of character, for people tell me I am naturally of the dominating type. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. ” “You will make me horribly conceited,” he answered.
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