" "Those terms were a third of my estate," observed Trenchard bitterly. "Her ladyship—" faltered the attendant. "I've lost my wager. He drew her closer. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. 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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