Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. 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. "Have you got Jonathan out of the way?" he asked, in an eager whisper. He did his best not to grin. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson.
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