Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up. 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. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains.
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