ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. Other girls gathered around like sheep. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. "Come Bess,—no whimpering. 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. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. She leaped suddenly at a desperate resolution, and in one moment had made it into a new self.
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