"Iss, Massa. . The day was sunny and pleasant, devoid of chill winds. And yet—I love you. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone. “They might do you good,” she remarked. 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. "Agreed," responded the Master.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ3Ljg1LjE4MSAtIDMwLTA5LTIwMjQgMjE6MDQ6MjcgLSA2NDIyODg0Njc=
This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 17:02:48