"You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. 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. When she saw Ann Veronica she stood for a moment as if entranced, and then advanced with outstretched hands. ’ ‘I should do as she says if I were you, Hilary,’ observed Gerald, noting the fierce determination in the girl’s lovely face. ‘You’re as mad as she is, Gerald.
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