" 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. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. Things seem to come rather easily. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed. You were delicious in concert, by the way. ‘What if she does not agree? Could she reveal us, damage us amongst our peers? Are you certain that we should not kill her?’ He asked. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. It wasn’t so much women as Woman that engaged his mind. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion.
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