I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. “Are you in the Service?” She asked him. His shouts for help were answered by roars of mockery and laughter. I’m minded to take a whip and beat some sense into you. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father. 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. Even two Cabinet Ministers took to their heels, grinning insincerely. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to.
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