’ ‘What for?’ asked Gerald, half laughing, as he put his hand in his pocket and brought out his elegant pistol. She felt very awkward as she stared at 103 the top of his ashen hair. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. "A little, Sir," replied the executioner, with a grim smile. 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.
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