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. The door to the library burst open. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. At least I can’t talk to them. ” He held his breath as she reached over the stick shift and touched his face. " And he proceeded to unfold his scheme to the woollen-draper. ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him.
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