“You need a reason. 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. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. He came to her at once, and turning, walked by her side. She may afford us some necessary information. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. Never. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly. I'm a slave to my word.
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