‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. "What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. " "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. “G.
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