He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. “Very much as usual,” said Ramage. To this day he and every one else thinks that he married Anna. My janizaries are without. 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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