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. ’ ‘Then what?’ demanded Lucilla in a hushed tone. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. Had it not been lashed to the adjoining wherry, it must have been upset, and have precipitated the opponents into the water. Right now my heart is occupied.
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