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‘You said it. Capes went first, finding footholds and, where the drops in the strataedges came like long, awkward steps, placing Ann Veronica’s feet. 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. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 22:34:28