The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. Such a mystery as you have set up. " "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. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers.
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