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Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. I could never make you understand. Wood, I forget nothing. “Do you want to ruin me? I shall walk back. It was the gallows. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. I want a walk. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out.
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