Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. By policemen one mustn’t shock. “Sure, are you sure you’re okay?” He exited off the highway onto a quiet road and pulled over. JACK SHEPPARD. 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. Stanley poured wine. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. Somehow.
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