What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. She was my first love. ” “I think it is very good of me to come this afternoon. "There's the house," said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. The faithful fellow will never leave me. “Why not? It might amuse me. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. “Do you know, I have been wondering what had become of you,” she said. This gloom was impossible. I’ve got to have you, and by God I will. Neither he nor Gerald chose to attire themselves in full military rig on fashionable occasions such as this. .
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