What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. You are utterly baffling. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words. . . He smiled. ’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. In some cases they were ground almost to powder; in others, driven deeply into the earth, as if discharged from a piece of ordnance.
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