Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. “Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked. The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. 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. The reddish-haired young man contributed allusions to the Hegelian philosophy that momentarily confused the discussion.
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