" 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. Sheppard, a matron offered to conduct him to her cell. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. You care for me just a little, I know. ‘Well, that depends.
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