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Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. Sebastian grabbed a rock from a corner and bashed in its skull. ’ ‘Idiot. ” “I don’t want to,” said Manning. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The Ragged Edge. .

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