" 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. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. ’ ‘What if she goes back to Charvill?’ demanded Roding. ’ Melusine sighed in a satisfied way.
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