Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. org.
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