He had grabbed her in the stream, embracing her naked body tightly, running his hands over her breasts and clutching her buttocks. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. She turned there and beckoned. " "Of course—of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that. " 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.
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