’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. He had not remembered her as looking so small. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. And a broken picture that was torn when I hit him with it. ] THE RAGGED EDGE BY HAROLD MACGRATH AUTHOR OF DRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC.
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