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. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. They bounced without merriment over bumpy Roman roads, and by the time they arrived she was extremely nauseous. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. The Closing Scene.
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