Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. 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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This video was uploaded to bikemoab.info on 22-09-2024 10:15:41
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