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. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. She had heard the trader utter it many times. " "What!" she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face. She did not realize that she was offering criticisms.
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