The Beautiful Adulteress had been lent by Phoebe , and it must be finished by nightfall so that Phoebe could return it to Deborah Wilson, who had purloined it from her brother's saddlebag.<br>Despite Miranda's eighteen years and elegant education at Philander Button's , despite avid perusal of this and similar books, she had not the vaguest notion of the horrifying behavior that resulted in one's becoming an adulteress. But that point was immaterial.<br>It was the glorious palpitating romance that mattered. The melancholy heroes, the languishing heroines, the clanking ghosts, dismal castles and all entrancingly punctuated at intervals by a tender, a rapturous—but in any case a guilty—kiss.
Anya Seton, CC BY-SA 4.0
On the night of the great storm, the taproom at was deserted. Earlier that evening men had wandered in for beers or rum flip—shore men all of them now, too old to go out with the fishing fleet. They had drunk uneasily, the mugs shaking in their vein-corded hands, while they listened to the rising wind. Ever more boisterous gusts puffed down the big chimney scattering fine ash over the scrubbed boards. In the two hundred yards away, the mounting breakers roared up the , muffling the clink of mugs on the table and the men's sparse comments.
Anya Seton, CC BY-SA 4.0
From all of the nearby s, from as far away as and and , the people were flocking to celebrate at . Weeks ago the King's herald had galloped throughout the country proclaiming the great tournament and inviting all valorous knights to come and participate. There would be tilting at the and other knightly games; there would be jousts and challenges, and there would be a climaxing tourney, or melee, for all contenders. Most of the knights and arrived at Windsor some days ago, and the lesser ones who cloud not be accommodated in the castle were already encamped on the plain below the walls in a bivouac of multicolored tents; many had brought their ladies, and all, of course, their s.<br>But the common people, though not specifically invited, were welcome, too. For these, five hundred oxen were roasting at charcoal fires dotted around the fields, vats of beer had been set up, and a thousand loaves of already baked for distribution.
Anya Seton, CC BY-SA 4.0
... I have no illusion about my writing. It is swift, competent, pictorial, emotional, and I am a . I am not very original and have no subtleties of style.
Anya Seton, CC BY-SA 4.0
The children romped together in and , they raced on shaggy ponies, they sailed chips amid protesting ducks on the pond, they wandered the nearby woods and stuffed themselves with . They explored all the fascinating features of the Manor lands, the mill with its big slowly turning sails, the little heath where had once found some Roman coins, the ruins of a castle haunted by a headless lady in gray.
Anya Seton, CC BY-SA 4.0
It snowed softly on , which was the fourth year of 's reign, and on Christmas morning a fleece as white and soft as a lay over London town. It hid the wooden gables and the red roof tiles, it hid the piles of filth dumped into the narrow . It muffled the rumble of carts, the clop-clop of hooves, the acrid cries of the street venders, but the church bells clanged out clear as ever above the stilled city. And while in the impatiently pounded snail shells in a , she heard rowdy singing directly outside the shop door on Old Bailey Street.<br>"Is it ?" she cried, throwing her down on the counter top and rushing to the twinkling-pained, .
Anya Seton, CC BY-SA 4.0

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Nationalities: United States
Languages: English
Notable works: Katherine, Green Darkness, My Theodosia, The Winthrop Woman, Dragonwyck