"Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. She began to look for beauty and discover it in unexpected aspects and places. 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. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. It was no use.
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