] THE RAGGED EDGE BY HAROLD MACGRATH AUTHOR OF DRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. It would not have interested him in the least to learn that the tub ran on two powers—wind and oil. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. " "Have you told him so?" she inquired, reproachfully. “I will believe you. Been making herself at home all right.
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