What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. “We’ll clean up everything tidy,” said Capes. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. The devastations, however, were speedily made good, and, in two years more, it was finished. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. Your uncle—our uncle is with him. " "Here!" ejaculated Wood, with a look of alarm. The thing is to get the patient on his feet.
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