By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. Mr. 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. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry.
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