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. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. He had not remembered her as looking so small. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. ” He was a little bewildered. I met a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man.
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