“Limp,” he answered. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with her. Tears sprang to her eyes. 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 slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room. Then before she could say a word to arrest him he was at her side. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind.
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