” “She doesn’t care for him now?” “Not a bit. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. " Prudence felt the hands stiffen oddly; and again the thought came to her that perhaps this poor child's father had once been, perhaps still was, in the same category as this Taber. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. I HAD to. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. He tried again. Had to. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. He grew more ardent, sliding her breasts out of the strapless bodice of her gown. 126 Lucy drank them as the first rays of watery sunlight seeped through the mullioned windows, then put their husks in the claw-footed bathtub.
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