" "Come along, master," said the waterman. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. ‘He wanted me also to run away with him, and I wish very much that I had done so. 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. ‘Don’t rightly know how you make that out, you being a French spy and a prisoner and all.
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