Without an idea where he was going, Jack pursued his way through the fields; and, as he proceeded, the numbness of his limbs in some degree wore off, and his confidence returned. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. Her hair was washed for her also. It is better as it is. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. ] THE RAGGED EDGE BY HAROLD MACGRATH AUTHOR OF DRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC. A severe pang shot through Jack's heart, and he would have given worlds if he possessed them to have seen his friend once more. Somewhere you may stumble upon a clew to his identity. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Many little things had contributed to that decision.
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