“Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. ” She laughed. ’ No Latin? And no guns or daggers, naturally. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet. 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. ‘Obstinate fool!’ She saw Gosse raise a hand, and dug into her nun’s habit for the knife she had not thought to need.
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