"Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. We must never let your father know we went. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. 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.
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