“It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. " "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’ll go after them and kill him. ” She scoffed. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. It melted her heart.
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