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This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. "No offence, I hope, my dear 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. But then the features changed. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again.
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