‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. But at the same time, I must say plainly that I think your presence here just now would be a great misfortune. The manager, however, who stood in the wings, nodded to her to proceed, and the orchestra commenced the first few bars of the music. He looked distant, irritated. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley.
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