Wood. Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. There stepped forth a tall brown man. We can be married tomorrow in Paris. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. ” She commented, only to herself. 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.
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