” He was dismissed, and he understood it. Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. At Anna’s words she seemed suddenly to stiffen. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one.
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