" 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. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. "No," replied Jonathan, with a brutal laugh. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. "I am innocent. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. Oh God! pardon me. That's a most damnable lie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive. I don’t know. You two can talk in Lucy and Shar’s room for a few minutes.
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