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. Laughed at me, then. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Lucy did not move, but instead stared straight forward, her eyes focused on the desk where the presiding teacher on duty was supposed to be. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos.
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