She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. 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. "So my father thought," replied Winifred; "and he therefore instantly fired upon him. I am Jonathan Wild. Left alone with Edgeworth Bess, Jack burst into a loud laugh of exultation. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. "Don't fire," cried the latter. III.
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