For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. 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. Sheppard let fall her basket. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. Better they should find the so-called Valade. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment.
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