“I guess I’m not the only one who wonders about your past. It was open. " "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. " Emptiness; that was the doctor's initial sensation: his vitals had been whisked out of him and the earth from under his feet. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt.
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