" 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. She wouldn't be able to pass by anywhere without folks turning their heads. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. ‘She wouldn’t tell me. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip. “It is Michelle, John.
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