You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Sheppard, faintly. She resolved to walk across the Park to the Zoological gardens, and so on by way of Primrose Hill to Hampstead Heath. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. Slash and cut as much as you please. 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.
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