"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. " 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. You must always shave and part your hair straight. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit.
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