E. 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. One must get them with exactly the same intensity. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. There was a third lady among the younger set. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events. ‘Damnation!’ Confused, he released her, and in an instant she had darted away and was running down the garden. The soldiers! They must not find her here. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame.
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