She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her. "May come!—it will come!—it shall come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. " "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. He was an old, skilled vampire. She did not wince. “For Heaven’s sake, Dunster, don’t let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs.
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