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. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. . "He; also, has paid the penalty of his offences," returned Thames. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg.
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