" 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. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. ” She was altogether hysterical now. Ramage,” she said, sharply, “I have to make it plain to you. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. E. Ramage. .
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