She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. Wood's ear, whispered, "secret agents from France—you understand—friends to the cause—hem!" "I see,—persons of rank!" Mr.
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