" "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. “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do it much,” said Ann Veronica. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. "Off with him to Newgate!" cried Jonathan.
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