Once outside, she ran towards the playground, and the grotto, a miniature limestone version of the manor, which was in itself a miniature of a fortress. And then suddenly—a relief. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. ” He ruminated for a minute. “Gracious!” she exclaimed to herself. ” She said. Come back with me to-night.
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