" "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. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. But why did he turn away? "Wait!" Ruth called to her father. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. “How so?” “I should have shared these things with you earlier, my sweet heart. ‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary. “Annabel!” she exclaimed.
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