What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. About many of these houses hung a mysterious taint as of something weakly and commonly and dustily evil; the women who negotiated the rooms looked out through a friendly manner as though it was a mask, with hard, defiant eyes. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him. Monroe would lock the whole group of us in the basement, every day. “See you at school tomorrow.
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