But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. " 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. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. ” She leaned against the back wall of the place, sinking slowly.
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