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’ ‘It was so,’ said Valade, becoming a trifle more fluent. John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. 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 gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again.
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