" 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. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. She was guided into the dock and prompted by a helpful police inspector. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. “You’ve interested me enormously. Oh, you cannot escape from it.
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