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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. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. Earles declared. It slipped out—as did that “she”. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. Give me but leave to try. net Transcribers Note: Obvious typesetter errors from the original corrected in this etext.
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