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. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. The ruffian's companions took his part. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. 155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour. They walked in silence. “These are the sort of things that aren’t supposed to happen. “I am a fool,” he said. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you.
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