“I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. 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. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again. The occasion of all this confusion and dismay, meanwhile, remained perfectly motionless; his figure erect, and with somewhat of dignity in his demeanour. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. “Then you need to find someone else.
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