" "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. ’ Then memory hit and he stared at his friend. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure.
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