If you knew anything about Canton ware, you were, as like as not, sorely tempted to stuff a teacup into your pocket. " "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. A sense of impending disaster was upon him. She stared at his pleading face. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad.
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