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She felt like a dried-up old woman. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields. ‘Forgive this intrusion, ma’am, I beg. Still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road, till the houses disappeared and he got into the open country. One morning he caught her hand suddenly and kissed it. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands.
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