“It’s about forty pounds. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. It’s an emerald. 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. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen. But they did what they could for her.
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