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. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. When they reached the door, he kissed her 246 again. The girl, with a little moan, crossed the room and threw open the window. These joyful bounds just lace into the stuff of my memories and stay there forever.
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