He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. ” He was a little uneasy. "Were I in your place," said Smith, "I should be apprehensive of Wild, because he's a declared enemy. 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. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes.
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