" 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. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. “I was never so clear in all my life as I have been in this business. But tell her this, too.
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