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. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. But she did not believe he would do that. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. A carpenter's daughter is no fit match for a peer of France.
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