The months that followed September spiraled downward. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. 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. Do you remember your first day with me?. I followed, taking up hunting so that way I could track you, to make sure you would become well again. ’ Kimble’s eyes widened. As to his mother, I've no pity for her.
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