\" He said to her after he bought his own ticket. 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. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. The proceedings of this faction were narrowly watched by a vigilant and sagacious administration. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire.
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