“John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. ‘I assure you it suits her as Mary would not. ” “Heavens!” the lady exclaimed. ’ ‘About me?’ The lady’s lashes fluttered and her fan came up. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. He's a cutie. Restraining with an effort his intense curiosity, he talked of general subjects only, trying his best to entertain her. A paralyzing horror was upon her.
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