You’d make a good Devil. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. “He tried it. The lips were straight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. "You've been quizzing my friend Kent, I perceive, in your Burlington Gate. Why should you who are queens come down from your thrones? If you can afford it, WE can’t. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. “Indeed, I must implore you to return.
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