Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. They are not your children, they never were. ‘Ha! Just the person I want. ‘Did I say so? When last heard from you were claiming some good English name. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley.
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