" "I can't exactly say, Sir Rowland. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. “Thanks, so do you. 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—you did what?” Anna exclaimed. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. “I have come for an explanation,” she said. "We won't have any trouble understanding each other; same language. .
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