" "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. The mode of destruction makes no difference. “His back was towards me,” Anna said. Brown or Jones, I dare say. Tell me that you are not sorry to see me again. "It's the skull of a rebel," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all.
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