‘Imbecile. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. I have a different game to play; and it'll be your own fault, if you don't come off the winner. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. Promise me one thing before I leave you. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones.
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