"Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer. 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. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman.
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