" She paused. " "Six weeks!" exclaimed Thames, in a melancholy tone. The Storm. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. She changed into a halter top and a pair of tight jeans herself, and let Lucy brush her long, glossy hair as they talked about mascara, schoolwork, and boys. " 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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