"But calm yourself, dear sister, or the interview will be too much for you. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. 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. “Where are we going?” Lucy asked desperately as Michelle began to twitch with greater frequency. "No," replied Jonathan, "I'll not take you at your word, as regards the latter proposition.
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