The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. The pistol fell to the floor. He will be some time in this comatose state. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. 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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