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F. ’ ‘Charvill, then,’ Gerald concluded, unperturbed. 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. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. You go cheer him up. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. ‘Do not beg my pardon.

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