But all this business has driven it clean out of my head. The above description of —the great Figg, by the prize-fighting swains Sole monarch acknowledged of Mary'bone plains— may sound somewhat tame by the side of the glowing account given of him by his gallant biographer, who asserts that "there was a majesty shone in his countenance, and blazed in his actions, beyond all I ever saw;" but it may, possibly, convey a more accurate notion of his personal appearance. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. " "I hope they are, Sir," answered Mrs. ‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not.
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