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. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. Even the chattering monkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for the smelly dark of the jungle. Free, there is nothing left to her but the canal. “Child!” he cried. " The doctor gave Spurlock's hand a friendly pressure.
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