Spurlock mused over the previous night. She laughed altogether in her old manner. " "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 should really like to find somewhere to stay, if it was only for a few nights.
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