’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. We can’t even protect them from themselves. 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. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew. T. Forgive me. The trip took a full day.
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