This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his own. It stunned her. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. This was his humiliation as well as hers. “Glaciers?” she said. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. . I never yet heard of a Christians as was named after the Shannon or the Liffy; and the Thames is no better than a dhurty puddle, compared wi' them two noble strames.
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