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. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. Move. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. ’ I said. "Where's Thames?" he hastily inquired. There was no one at home, and I was coming away when I saw that the door was open. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. “Well——” She stopped short. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back.
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