] THE RAGGED EDGE BY HAROLD MACGRATH AUTHOR OF DRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC. They pressed more insistently, forcing her lips open. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. Manning’s feelings, and as Ann Veronica’s mind was still largely engaged with fundamentals and found no pleasure in metrical forms, she had not as yet cut its pages. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. She was an Egyptian, from the magical times. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. He was beautiful despite the odd angle. “Politics!” Ennison answered grimly. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice.
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