I am tired, and I want to be alone. CHAPTER V. 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. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. But Gerald kept to a casual note. He fixed it. Her foster parents had attended the concert in their finest clothes, Cathy in a new JC Penney dress, Larry in a suit that was too small. At nine o'clock, the sheriffs arrived, followed by their officers and javelin-men. ‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face.
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