James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up.
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