“I am sorry for the way I acted, Lucy. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. It needs cultivating, I think. He had buckled on his hanger, and had two brace of pistols in his belt, as well as others in this holsters. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her.
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