She felt a semi-sharp object being gently impressed into her back. I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. ‘Poor Gerald has been very busy about your affairs this last week. He continued thoughtfully. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley.
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