" "None whatever," rejoined Wild. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. The Ragged Edge. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. “I admired your sister in Paris,” he answered, “but I do not believe that I regard her now as altogether the same person. It was a mass of knick-knacks. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. I’ve had a lot on my mind. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. Little by little, she stopped hating him.
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