" "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. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. He trembled violently. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek.
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