"Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. " "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. But Jack eluded their grasp. She described it so vividly. This morning I met him at the dock, and he wouldn't take the other fifty.
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