“Sir John is not at all that sort. . On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. I saw him first a few months ago at Mrs. " 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. ” She stared hard at her finger-nails.
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