“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. I couldn't accept anything from you. He saw the tragedy on the boy's face; but he was merciless. Sebastian dug through the viscous layers of foul-smelling clay with a shovel, each successive insertion creating an obscene sucking noise that ate at her sanity. 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. 4. The Red Room.
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