Lucy looked about confusedly. “Allow me. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. Impelled by a feeling, into which we shall not pause to inquire, the stranger started after them; but they were better mounted, and soon distanced him. 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. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. A woman was born to have children, particularly male children. Something seemed awry. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her. ” Lucy’s nagging worry raised its own status to full blown alarm. “Go on!” she commanded. It’s John. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face.
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