] THE RAGGED EDGE BY HAROLD MACGRATH AUTHOR OF DRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC. After partaking of some little refreshment, and changing her attire, Mrs. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. He had grabbed her in the stream, embracing her naked body tightly, running his hands over her breasts and clutching her buttocks. "If I had my old tools with me, we'd soon master this obstacle," he muttered. " "Why, surely you can't be in earnest, Captain. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. It was a brief solitude, however. .
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