” “But it may matter very much indeed,” Anna declared. " "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. CHAPTER VII. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. “Sure, I guess so.
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