. '" "No, we can't stand that," hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his legs. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. She was unusually pale, and her eyes were brilliant. 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.
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