She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. 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. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. ‘You have no need to be afraid of us. I want you to turn me. She tipped his mouth towards her own and kissed him. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days.
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