Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. 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. ’ She tried to shake his hands off her wrists, but Gerald held them fast and tutted at her. \"No, not really. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas.
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