" 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. There was a little murmur of consternation from the waiting crowd, and the florid young woman showed signs of temper, to which Mr. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner.
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