In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. 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. He patted the hand on his sleeve. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. ” “She does it magnificently,” he declared.
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