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’ Kimble frowned direfully, staring at the weapon with its gold hilt and decorative pattern down the blade. 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. Sanguine they were not. "And now," said Thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) "you will no longer defer my happiness.
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