The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. "A sail?" said McClintock. I don’t feel it. He moved slightly, and she went on, with a slight catching of her breath: “It’s a bother and disturbance, but you see—” She had to go through with it now, because she could think of nothing but her preconceived words. I'll try to think better of him in future. 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.
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