John said nothing. 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. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. ” She whispered.
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