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Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. ’ ‘But—’ ‘You’ll get her all over blood again. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. He hadn't played fair. I knew it would be good because all Spielberg movies are good. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. . But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine.
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