Her mouth was once more covered as they left the second floor guest saloon and headed for the back stairs. Ennison spoke at last. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. 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. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. ’ ‘What, for not wanting to marry you?’ ‘Imbecile. “I shot him. “Never was such an age of transition. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. ‘That’s why I’m asking.
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