" 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 heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. “Run in now. " "No, Sir Rowland.
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