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“It’s his birthday. The whole force of the constables, jailers and others was required to keep the crowd out of the Hall. The one through which she had come and Gosse had entered behind her. 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. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. The beachcomber, the lowest in the human scale; and some day he would enter into this estate. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared.
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