Yet the thought of being paraded around grand houses as the latest acquisition filled me with dread. David's little mistake - his heathen bride. Why can' t we just stay as we are, I thought. We're happy now. In the end, it was worse, than I'd ever imagined.
Whispers are like daggers.
They stab you between the shoulder blades when you're not looking. Such a sweet, little thing, my dear, and absolutely devoted to David. Yes, a Jewess, I'm afraid, darling, but still - you'd scarcely notice . What a relief to find that I'm quite presentable, after all. Yes, quite the little bluestocking.