" 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. Wild's. This woman, contrary to his custom, he answered. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess.
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