" "Conduct me to your dwelling, Sir, without further delay," said Trenchard, sternly,—"to the boy. " "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. Get on with it, then. I’ll take over here. Let’s go up to my room. “I don’t know where to go to. He lifted her from the floor.
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