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. Martin proceeded to grab Lucy by the shoulders and air-kiss both of her cheeks teasingly. " "If I do, I care not," rejoined Wild; "I shall have lived to see you hanged. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. Then there was also the horse.
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