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All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. “Who are YOU that the world should lie down at your feet? “You’ve got to be a decent citizen, Ann Veronica. He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. If you don’t eat humble-pie now you may live to fare worse later. Yes, I think we have thoroughly thrashed that one out. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. It was empty. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. She lied. 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.
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