Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. “I want to know who you are. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. 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. " "Heaven have compassion on you, Rowland!" murmured his sister, crossing her hands and looking upwards; "you have none on me. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night.
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