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. How long have you been playing?” Lucy breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road.
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