\"Lucy?\" He called her as she turned. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. At a little distance from the party, sat a tall, sinister-looking personage, with harsh inflexible features, a gaunt but muscular frame, and large bony hands. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers. ~THE END~ [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge MIMI PALMERI AS RUTH ENSCHEDE ALFRED LUNT AS HOWARD SPURLOCK] [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY] [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY] [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY] End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ragged Edge, by Harold MacGrath *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAGGED EDGE *** ***** This file should be named 15614-8. " He started to pick up a sheet of manuscript, but she pushed him from the table toward the doorway; and he staggered out of the bungalow, suddenly stretched his arms, and broke into a trot. “It is intolerable that you should be followed about by such a creature. Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. "Ever play one of these machines?" "Yes. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground.
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