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And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. This time she tried to kill me with a dagger. “They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller,” she said. He parried without apparent effort. That might happen on her birthday—in August. So far as I'm concerned, nothing could please me more.
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