She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt.
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