Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. She came to London, and tried several things without any success. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. It’s well hidden, miss. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. ” Annabel no longer attempted to conceal her emotion. ” Anna wheeled an easy chair to the fire.
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