“Oh. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. *** Gerald vaguely noted that his junior leapt to his feet at sight of his former commander, and that Lucilla sat with her mouth at half-cock, dread in her face. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley.
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