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. Committing him to the custody of the others, Blueskin, followed by a numerous band, darted in that direction. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. Her anger died and she eyed him. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face.
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