" "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. ” Annabel laughed hardly. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently.
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