" "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. “We won’t. . C. But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you.
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