The Ragged Edge. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. Water soaked her through in five minutes. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. ” Miss Pellissier tried ineffectually to conceal her relief. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. She looked around her. His food lay untouched about his plate. It is of no use.
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