1. "Bess wouldn't bear a rival. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. 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. You on the other hand have to come to London, a worker, with the responsibility of life upon your own shoulders—and in addition all the burden of her follies. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 26-09-2024 01:39:51