The evenings were dulcet and soft. He roused curiosities. Accordingly, he stopped the coach, dismounted, and hastened towards the assemblage, which, he was glad to find, consisted chiefly of a posse of watchmen and other guardians of the night. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. ” “And he sat at my table,” Annabel said bitterly, “and yet he did not know me. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether.
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