How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down 458 XXXI. At last the panel swung back into the library. "What is this?" she wanted to know. Mirrors. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. The sight of the thief-taker increased the fury of the mob to a fearful degree. " "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. Tight.
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