By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. 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 may say she does not sound in the least like Mary,’ said Mrs Sindlesham bluntly.
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