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’d never have a day of peace again, John. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. Delight surged through her as her breasts, shoulders, and belly touched his naked flesh all at once. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. Lucy followed her. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. ’ ‘I spit on your plan,’ Melusine told him furiously. They almost made me feel like they were mine. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel.
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