] THE RAGGED EDGE BY HAROLD MACGRATH AUTHOR OF DRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. He shall have the estates. When she finally did take her own lover, it was not with a member of the household staff. His safety must be looked to. She drew a long breath. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. It’s one of their worst traits, one of their very worst. She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for.
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