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. I asked her to marry me, and she consented. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. Oh, cuss it!” “Eh?” “He said I would. " "Fear nothing. "Jack!" she cried, raising her head. The manager twisted his moustache. ***** The general office was an extension of the west wing of the McClintock bungalow. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. ‘But don’t let me stop you from going to see Charvill.
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