” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. " "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. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. gutenberg.
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