" "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. Before morning, unless, we can effect an escape, you'll be kidnapped, or murdered, and your disappearance attributed to the negligence of the constable. "I don't know," she answered vaguely. “Look round the table,” she said. If only Gerald would come. ‘Didn’t mean to say that. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. And now for the fawney— the ring I mean. “Don’t think that I have been playing the spy upon you,” he continued. 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. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. .
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