" "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. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least.
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