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 introduced her as his \"friend\" Lucy. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and then the church.
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