You couldn’t help it. 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. And, turning at the touch, he perceived Sheppard's glance fixed meaningly upon him. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. It depresses one, you know. works.
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