" "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. It was Blueskin. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. " "What motive can you have for so vile a deed?" asked Mrs. “It is just a look.
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