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There seems to be more disposition of personal liking to Thackeray than to Dickens, now both are dead, a result that would hardly have been predicted when the world was crying over Little Nell, or agreeing to hate Becky Sharp. THE YOUNG LADY. What was that you were telling about Charles Lamb, the other day, Mandeville? Is not the popular liking for him somewhat independent of his writings?
"What in the world made you ask all those people over, Becky?" the Judge demanded. "Oh, they're great fun, Grandfather, and I felt like it." "Have you planned anything for them to eat, Claudia?" "Watermelons. Calvin has put a lot of them in the spring." The stars were thick overhead. Becky looked up at them and relaxed a little.
The darkies were deeply religious and learned much of the Bible from devout mistresses who felt it their holy duty to teach these ignorant people the word of God. An extract from Mrs. Magowan's diary on July 25, 1856: "Old Aunt Becky was baptised on the 20th; she being upwards of 70 years of age.
Nellie Custis shivered and whined. She hated thunder-storms. Randy sat down on the step and she crept close to him. He laid his hand on her head and fear left her as fear had left Becky in the presence of Dalton. After that the boy and the dog sat like statues, looking out, and in those tense and terrible moments a new spirit was born in Randolph Paine.
Oh, why hadn't Sister Loretto told her that there were men like this? Why hadn't Aunt Claudia returned in time? In the big box which Mandy had brought up were clothes exquisite things which Becky had ordered from New York. She had thought it a miracle that George should have fallen in love with her believing her poor. It showed, she felt, his splendidness, his kingly indifference to poverty.
It produces the illusion we feel in reading Robinson Crusoe. In the whole range of modern fiction there are few characters whom we feel that we know so intimately as we do Jane Eyre. She is as intensely familiar to us as Becky Sharp or Parson Adams. Much more than this. Not only do we feel an intimate knowledge of Jane Eyre, but we see every one by the eyes of Jane Eyre only.
But it is always more formal up there they remember that I have money. Here it is forgotten." "I wish I could forget it." "Why should you ever think of it?" she demanded with some heat. "I am the same Becky with or without it." "Not quite the same," he was turning his hat in his hand.
"If you had cared to stay, you would have stayed," he told her, rather unreasonably. "Perhaps, after all, Boston to Olga simply means baked beans which she doesn't like, and codfish which she prefers raw " "Now you have spoiled it all," said Becky. "I loved the things that you said about the churches and the bookshops and Bunker Hill." "Did you?
He thought her poor, and had thrown her aside like an old glove! Down-stairs the telephone rang. Old Mandy, coming up to say that Mr. Randy was on the wire, stood in amazement at the sight of Becky in the rosy wrap with her hair peaked up to a topknot. "Ain' you in baid?" she asked, superfluously. "No. Who wants me, Mandy?" "I tole you Mr. Randy." Becky deliberated. "I'll go down.
I remembered what old Lord Steyne had said to Becky: "You poor little earthen pipkin. You want to swim down the stream with great copper kettles. All women are alike. Everybody is striving for what is not worth the having." I was quite sure I did not want to drift down the stream with copper kettles. I only wanted to be with Tom, to see England with him, to enjoy Dr.
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