” “I thought Mr. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. Only now it does not matter at all because Joan has come and has seen me. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley.
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