" 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. ” “Can’t we go down into Italy?” “No,” he said; “it won’t run to that now. Make haste!" Ruth hurried off to her own room. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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