There isn’t. "My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. “What are you doing?” “Nothing. God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. " "You terrify me," cried Mrs. ’ ‘I think you—’ He broke off abruptly, astonished at what he had been about to say. " "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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