The Ragged Edge. First, look at this glove. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. ‘Jacques!’ He stopped, but he did not turn. By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. “Once or twice. ” “It scarcely gives me a chance,” Mr. ‘I should have thought it was obvious. .
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