" "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 an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. " "What time is it?" inquired Jack. “I was surprised, I admit,” he said. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish.
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