" "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. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. But the offences I have committed are venial in comparison with what I should commit were I to wed your father. And life is much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the road-side. ‘Yes, very rude,’ agreed the major. “I am going to ask for your forgiveness.
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