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 can't go to sea with a book of rules. ” “It was an inspiration—your speaking to him?” “I felt impudent. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’ ‘Yes, yes. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth.
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