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. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. Wood the carpenter. ‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. It was a moment before he recognised that the effect had been similar on all those present, including General Lord Charvill.
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