] THE RAGGED EDGE BY HAROLD MACGRATH AUTHOR OF DRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. She shrugged her shoulders. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. After all, if Valade—or no, what did you say was the villain’s name?’ ‘Gosse,’ Melusine supplied. “The man is dangerous. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. So proas loaded with nuts were always landing on the beach. ’ Her lips parted, but she did not speak. The country was partitioned in a similar manner.
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