On that night, I surrendered myself to Jonathan Wild, and became— what I am. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. 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. “My dear sweet Lucia. ’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. The will to live had returned. She held out her hand frankly. She brought the cups of cocoa back to the bedroom. Captain Roding strode into the parlour. Ruth will be a gold mine for a man of your peculiar bent. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. The ragged edge.
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