" 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 no longer made love to her, as there was no point. Acquainted with every part of the jail, Jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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