What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. "And me," added Mrs. ” With a swift movement she gained the bell and rang it. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. “Lucy, I have to talk to you. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged.
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