Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. 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. ” Ann Veronica made no answer. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. "I never wear false whiskers," went on O'Higgins. " Her ear caught much of the lesson, and many things she stored away; but often what she heard was sound without sense. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously.
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