The girl nodded sagely. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. . ’ ‘You didn’t care. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. I don’t idealize you. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. When they reached the door, he kissed her 246 again. ‘You said it. I cannot explain beyond that. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. ’ For the first time since she had heard the news, Mrs Sindlesham’s features relaxed and a tiny smile appeared.
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