He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. " 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. " This simple admission disarmed McClintock.
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