“It—it—must come,” she faltered. “They have no plans for us. " 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. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Water I need. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone.
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