I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. 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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