. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. It had not tasted good since 1350. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. 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. She was a swan among geese, trying to look plain and dowdy.
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