“Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down. 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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