What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. The signal of distress was evidently understood. ‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. Indeed, it was his boast that he could find his way through any part of London blindfolded; and by this time, it would seem, he had nearly arrived at his destination; for, grasping his companion's arm, he led him along a narrow entry which did not appear to have an outlet, and came to a halt. Men of action by the scarlet coats with their grey facings—insignia of the county militia. Diable.
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