" "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. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. Miss Stanley hesitated, and took first one and then another of the constituents of this costume off its peg and surveyed it. Got the day off. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Professor Michael S.
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