She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. " 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. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. All emotions laid hold of him, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. " "Indeed!" said Shotbolt.
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