” Brendon leaned over confidentially. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. 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. Accordingly, on their presentation, Mr. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. Not if I read her aright. Apparently he thought it very much worth while. As soon as the cavalcade stopped, the sexton advanced, and, ringing a handbell, pronounced the following admonition.
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