" 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 sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone.
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