"Speak out—don't be alarmed," said Wood, in a kind and encouraging tone. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. 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. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap.
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