" "Very right, my love," said Wood, "very sensibly remarked. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward. " 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. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene.
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