She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. I've taught him all he can do; and there isn't his fellow, and never will be again. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. We have that gift. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. And then all her restlessness was turned to joy. Jack was not half your age when he died.
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