He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. That he should pay forty pounds to help this girl who preferred another man was no less in his eyes than a fraud and mockery that made her denial a maddening and outrageous disgrace to him. Afraid there'll be a love-affair. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. 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. For a few minutes all was silent. Besides, your remark is not in the least complimentary.
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