70 <9> A MARRIAGE, PART II She dreamt of the inn they had stopped at after her suicide attempt, the flea-ridden hostel her husband had angrily toted her to after the incident at the country house. She heard him come in; the light burned on. But it was not so ordered. He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs. If not, I'll take a cheerful glass with you at the City of Oxford, on my way to Tyburn. “Vee,” she said, “come home. "Hist!" cried Rowland, arresting his comrade. ‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. 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.
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