” He smiled at the naiveté of her suggestion. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. "The chief of the detective agency informed me that it would be best not to let Mr. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. You can’t go. . ” Lucy stated. 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.
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