But in this posture he fared worse than ever. 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. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over.
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