" "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. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. She always dawdled, so it was easy. We’re different. In a few minutes more he had made a breach in the roof wide enough to allow him to pass through.
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