What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. But to-day he did not get beyond half a dozen desultory start-offs. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. "Sir Rowland," he added, savagely, and with somewhat of the look of a bull-dog before he flies at his foe, "if it were my pleasure to do so, I could crush you with a breath.
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