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He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. “Well——” She stopped short. "Poor Mrs. "Do not steel your heart against him, dear Thames," interposed Winifred. Treasure caves to explore! All through these trying days she had recurrently wondered what this strange young man would have to say that Dickens and Hugo had not already said. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain.
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