" "I see. She will sail, at early dawn to-morrow, for Rotterdam. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil. 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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