" "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. I'll not speak of Jack or Jonathan. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. 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. Hilary threw up his eyes. "He will live," answered Ruth. . "The key," replied the widow. “What a little brick!” he murmured.
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