97 “For what, kiddo?” Larry turned his head slightly to one side. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. Striking out his foot, he knocked half a dozen teeth down the janizary's throat; and, seconding the kick with a blow on the head from the butt-end of the pistol, stretched him, senseless and bleeding on the ground. She ran away after she had divined that Gianfrancesco had remarried.
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