She had a gold watch, a very good gold watch that had been her mother’s, a pearl necklace that was also pretty good, some unpretending rings, some silver bangles and a few other such inferior trinkets, three pounds thirteen shillings unspent of her dress and book allowance and a few good salable books. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. When she awoke, she felt sick, her mouth still salty with blood. Jackson’s. She was by his side. He had hurt her. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat.
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