Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. 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. E. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn.
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