On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. “She seems an unusually clever girl,” said Ramage. 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. But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things.
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