What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. “When it comes there is no mistaking it. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. " "I sha'n't want these curtains. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. ” He took a quick step forward. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. .
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