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. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. We all did that in our youth, when first we came upon a fine story; else we were worthless metal indeed. Doctor Ralph came in to tea and put his arm round Alice and kissed her, and Alice called him “Squiggles,” and stood in the shelter of his arms for a moment with an expression of satisfied proprietorship. And then they talked of Anarchism and Socialism, and whether the former was the exact opposite of the latter or only a higher form. Then a roar of hisses.
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