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. His heart hammered in his chest. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. Quite ordinary. “Feel better.
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