The Ragged Edge. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you.
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