" "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. This was just what he needed. There was no one to be seen in the great hall. ” He looked at her very gravely. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen.
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