The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. Something happened down there, and probably I'll never know what. 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. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch.
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