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His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. John exited quickly from the side of the stage and returned to where his mother and father sat. The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape. She would never again be lonely. ” He resumed, after a mouthful: “Here is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, seventeen and a half to be exact, running about, as one might say, in London. I came to the Beck’s house. 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. Can you kill yourself?” He asked quietly. “He couldn’t look me in the face and say it,” said Ann Veronica. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered.
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