" Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward. He became a little less en garde. CHAPTER XXVII. The evenings were dulcet and soft. He never appears to so little advantage as when speaking of him. “You are mistaken, David. You have taken upon your shoulders the burden of her misdeeds.
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