The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. \" \"All right. ” “I knew it,” Ennison exclaimed. My son went down after his death. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. 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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