Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. 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. " "Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?" "Well, aren't you?" "I don't know; I really don't know. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. "Auntie?" he cried.
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