ILLUSTRATED WITH SCENES FROM THE PHOTOPLAY PRODUCED BY DISTINCTIVE PICTURES CORPORATION NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS THE RAGGED EDGE CHAPTER I The Master is inordinately fond of young fools. I told him that I would help stage your kidnapping. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. He will not help them—and I told Emile so—and thus he sends them to my other grandpére, even that he knows he is dead. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. “My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my long list of misdeeds. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over. Tell me that you are not sorry to see me again. Sheppard. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation.
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