"You are, Sir," thundered Jonathan; "and, unless you find him, you shan't hold your place a week. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. “You are a miracle! God spares few from the Pestilence. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. His smile faded.
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