“Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination. 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. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. Now, come along, gem'men, and I'll show you some precious sport. “Quite right,” she said. After all, she only LOOKED a woman. Ann Veronica had one of her flashes of insight. “Sure. “Believe me, I know. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. " "They may find me. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed.
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