" "You'd better take care of your mother's son instead," rejoined Blueskin. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. She stared at his pleading face. 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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