"My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. " "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. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. " "Pray do so, Madam," retorted Mrs. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You should have gone to Charvill.
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