" "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. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. ’ He sighed. How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII.
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