“We pretend bodies are ugly. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. 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. Is that it? I thought this very pretty.
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