“Look,” Frederick whispered, gesturing toward the window as the landscape opened to a vast and glorious emerald countryside. “That’s not so bad, is it?” She leaned close to the window, her reflection smiling back at her. “The land of Austen and Brontë and Dickens.” “Keats, Shelley, and Doyle,” he added. She swung her attention to him, his face so close. “I love it when you speak in fiction.”
