Whenever they stepped from the chairs, he stepped down. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. The last piece was Scheherazade. " 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.
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