To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. " "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. My death, probably. Montague Hill is. She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea. Happened to be at the Chariot, you know, with Trodger, and it’s review day. Whenever they stepped from the chairs, he stepped down. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. The one through which she had come and Gosse had entered behind her. “It’s—it’s a difficult question. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine. Suspicion was in his face.
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