‘Wait! No time for that. . . Mr. ’ She frowned suddenly. Smith: "ho! ho!" "How condescending!" thought Mrs. They will say that it was murder. His eyes were closed. 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 was Julian five years younger, the spitting image.
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