dust shot

“I heard them say, ‘He was shot twice,’” the father, Joseph Dossi, remembers.

There was no fighting; a rifle shot now and then from the crests where we saw our fellows clearly.

A was an Archer, who shot at a frog; B was a Butcher, and had a great dog.

Dockier, a prominent leader of the Levelers, in the times of the English commonwealth, was shot by order of the government.

There was not a moment to lose, for one well-directed shot might exterminate half of us.

In the aperture of the window, amid piles of paper, stood a rickety old table, covered with dust.