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If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. “I shan’t eat him. You know, Melusine. "I'm quite at your disposal. ‘I do not understand you. \"Uh-oh. There was only one prisoner in the ward. 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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