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. “Gross. But no more of that. She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. My heart misgives me. All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand and jotting down his instructions on a chart sheet. “What I am after is that beauty isn’t a special inserted sort of thing; that’s my idea.
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