What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea stock,—made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number—ha! ha! In a word, Sir, Mr. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to Tyburn. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. He had particular reasons for wanting to keep Spurlock away from the jetty. Move. ’ ‘Oh, she’ll be safe enough, Gerald. " "As you please," replied Jonathan, sternly.
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