Like a petulant child he snapped. " "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. "I am sorry. 275 “Yes!” She answered, feeling joy and fear well in her chest. I don’t care WHAT happens. ” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded.
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