’ ‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence. "Beat down their blades," cried the Master; "no bloodshed. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. “I might have muddled for a time. I told him Valade had tried to borrow money off me and asked if he could vouch for the fellow.
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