His voice now had lost its ironies. ***** October. He turned to Ruth and McClintock. 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 seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands.
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