There was now a girl in the picture, so it seemed. She was the first to recover herself. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him. 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. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled.
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