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. "Let me look at the paper. ” She shook her fist ceilingward. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. ” She shook her head. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. He did not particularly care. She brought her face to his chest, turning her head sideways so he would not notice her elongated canines. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect.
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