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. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. Dinner consisted of three courses.
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