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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. “In it lies the secret poison he used to turn you into an Oracle. Now go. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. It would not be possible otherwise to live in daily contact with this level-eyed, lovely girl without loving her.
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