The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. ‘You’re either mad, or in love. 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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