Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. ” “I believe you,” she murmured. . The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish.
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