‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. 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. ‘I wish you joy of the wench.
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