“Showtime!” Martin cried. ” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. Mistresses neither deserve consideration nor commiseration. I may tell him, at any rate, that you will see him?” “I shall like to see him,” Anna answered. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. 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.
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