“Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. 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. If you had arrived ten minutes later, or if there hadn't been an iron bar in the chimney, that hindered my progress, I should have been beyond your reach. The unfortunate carpenter struggled violently, but ineffectually.
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