He looked no longer at his wife. 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 was half hoping that I might be allowed to see you home. ‘Though he didn’t mean it. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. They began the evening like usual, driving down highways and byways. ” They were eating quails when they returned to the topic of love. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. He had this thing for his twin daughters. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. But it’s only now I’m able to do it. ” She said. ’ His brows rose. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds.
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