Anna sprang lightly away across the street. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. " "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.
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