Part 7 That was two days before Christmas Eve. She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. She made a quick movement, and the hand fell away. " "Who's lost?" demanded Ireton. And then! a garment that was conceivably a secondary skirt. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. 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 think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything. To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour! She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuated her beauty. ” She said. “I was never at any such dinner, and I am quite sure that I do not know you. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him.
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