She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. “Nothing can cheer me,” he said, “except champagne. "I understand," she said. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. 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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