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. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. But I see now. "Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess.
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