She had expected sympathetic admiration, but instead the whole Widgett family, except Teddy, expressed a common dismay. 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. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean.
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