Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. " That was true, thought Spurlock. ‘For my part, I am in no hurry to end this exciting little adventure. 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. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly.
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