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. She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations. The face of the man who lay there was clearly visible. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time.
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