" 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 glanced about and saw his quarry holding court at one end of the vast mirrored chamber. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. "Or trying to be," answered the doctor. It was really most vivid, most vivid! You seemed to be slipping and just going to tumble and holding on. ’ He smiled down at her. It’s—Mrs. She deserves what has befallen her.
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