“Stop,” he said. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort. He shuddered. “It is from his brother in Paris. I’ve had it, Sheila. . . What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. There was also the daunting task of getting dressed. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. I finally got my own set of house keys when I turned eleven.
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