My nerves were in rags. 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. ’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. I will never consent till I see him. I saw her come out from the flat buildings two minutes before we entered it last night. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. “I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered.
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