“How have you been, my dear? Up to no good, I see. " "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. But she was not to be tempted. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. “I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea.
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