It was at lunch when McClintock announced that in the mailpouch he had found a letter addressed to Howard Taber, care of Donald McClintock and so-forth. And now, a fair exchange, Sir. And I’m afraid. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object.
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