"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. . At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. " "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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