The Ragged Edge. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. The windows which were about nine feet from the floor, had no glass; but were secured by thick iron bars, and an oaken beam. "I cannot sign it," returned Trenchard. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women.
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