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By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. "I wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may I be cursed if he don't get a taste of the aqua pompaginis. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. Her patience was waning fast. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. 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. " "May I trust you?" cried Thames, eagerly.

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