He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. Then she called a hansom and drove home. She put back her hood in a determined way. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. . ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. 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. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. ” She barked.
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