What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. “Boys!” said Capes. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. "Not proud in the least, I declare. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. The Idle Apprentice II. Capes flashed to an understanding of her intention, sprang to his feet, and opened the door for her retreat. ‘Yes, I thought you’d say that. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say.
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