’ ‘You’re going to break into the house? You’re mad. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. 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 pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. "Mr.
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