" For a long time after O'Higgins had gone the doctor rocked in his swivel chair, his glance directed at the map. " "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. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. I had that coming. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so. \"What's in there?\" Lucy asked. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone.
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