"There's the exact expression I want. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. The Burglary at Dollis Hill. I ate only enough to keep body and soul together. The future was not so black. ’ A scowl crossed the lady’s face. “You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. I can’t tell anyone certain things about my life. 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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