This is also the ragged edge of the world, too. She shivered, more due to his presence than the changing weather. “Let me see,” he said. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. But I know a little place where we’ll get a little quiet talk. ] THE RAGGED EDGE BY HAROLD MACGRATH AUTHOR OF DRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC. “He was in holy orders, and we were to have been married when he got a living. I cannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for the present. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon.
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