What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. ‘Here we go again. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. Once upon a time she and Roddy had descended thence by the drain-pipe. . They ought to put a lamp. “Come this way,” he said. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore.
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