The vote is only the beginning, the necessary beginning. She even touched lightly on her father’s unreasonableness. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. Voilà tout. It was open. Quite ordinary. 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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