That might happen on her birthday—in August. 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’ve never muffed an exam yet. . Love is one thing and friendship quite another. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. My heart fails me. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. We were alike.
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