He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. 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. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. “But I have forbidden it!” he said, raising his voice. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat.
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