“We don’t let to ladies,” they said. However, not a moment is to be lost. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. 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 don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. ’ Emile’s eyes blazed.
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