” She said bitterly. What's the idea of the black border?" "My father recently died, sir. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. " "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.
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