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. ” She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they both stood still. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. “Don’t you care for Mr.
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