“Annabel!” she exclaimed. didn’t have to. \"No. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. I was to blame to carry the matter so far. I should scarcely have known you. ” “Oh. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you.
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