There was something in Jonathan's manner, as he issued this command, that struck the man as singular, and he afterwards recalled it. 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. You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is. Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face.
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