In the circles into which he had been born, the passing on of land was of vital importance. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. I didn’t understand before that letter. 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. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks.
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