The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ” “Our cases are scarcely similar,” Anna remarked. ” “You asked your father for a reason!” Miss Miniver repeated. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. 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. This man and he were alike, and about the same age.
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