” She fumbled with her keys and opened the front door. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. Fetter Lane, on the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies. She has no proof—yet. 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 have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live.
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