He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. “He dissembles,” he said.
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