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But I am always afraid that he may get in while I am away. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. Nothing has been touched since. 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. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. The plank hung over his head.
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