‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. " 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. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. " At the door of this tavern, which was situated on the left of the street, not more than a hundred yards distant from the church, the bell of which began to toll as soon as the procession came in sight, the cart drew up, and the whole cavalcade halted.
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