" "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. . . . "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. ”) Well, they might say that, but he knew very well that before long they would regret it. She knew that the stairs they had to negotiate to the vestry were extremely narrow, and she had made her plans.
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