At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. 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. “Anyway, enough about that. It’s just that I want to say. Firstly, she did not intend to marry at all, and particularly she did not mean to marry Mr. Wild's busy. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet.
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