It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. “I wonder what you could do?” he said. " "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. " All day long the phrase interpolated her thoughts.
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