] THE RAGGED EDGE BY HAROLD MACGRATH AUTHOR OF DRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC. But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. ‘All right, Trodger. It was the girl. He went to the door. To-morrow, when she returned to Hong-Kong, she would purchase a simple but modern dress. And let us go on with our evening.
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