” “And what do you think I ought to do?” “Exactly!” He lifted a paper-weight and dabbed it gently down again. " "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 night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leaned over the rail, their shoulders touching.
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