. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. " "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. Gianfrancesco stumbled belatedly onto the beach, his feet padding wet sand. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided.
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