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. “I can’t imagine what has come over you,” said her aunt. Sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet. She entered and approached the bunk. If you met her you would, I am certain, think her as fine as I do. Creeping stealthily up stairs, unmasking a dark lantern, and glancing into each room as he passed, he was startled in one of them by the appearance of Mrs. ‘But I do not pay this penalty.
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