” “Bring me a whisky and soda, and a box of cigarettes,” Ennison answered, “and then leave me alone, there’s a good fellow. 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. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life.
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