"'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. Spurlock's movements and report progress. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. Clotilde flew into a rage, crying, “How dare you lay claim to my children! I am their mother! This is a Godless house!” She accused. Let me engage myself. 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.
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