If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. ’ ‘I thank you,’ Gerald said drily. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround.
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