I crushed the letter spasmodically in my hand as I walked mechanically up and down the length of the dining-room, a rage of anger filling my brain and the blood thundering in my ears.
Bleh. I was vaguely interested when I found this at a used book store because Victoria Cross was a pen name of Annie Sophie Cory, who wrote racy-for-the-time novels that explored women's sexual feelings, interracial relationships, and other taboo subjects. But there's no denying that this is just not a good book. Nothing happens except lots of drawn-out sexual tension from the intolerably smug narrator. The basic plot is that the narrator has promised his father to get a novel published before marrying the woman he loves, to prove that he can make his own way. No one wants to publish him because his books don't conform to the mores of the time (sound familiar?), so he decides to go to Paris, where they're more liberal about these things. Shenanigans happen, he keeps suppressing his sexual urges and denying his lady, she gets all weak and sickly (from hysteria!), he starts to question whether it's wise to push off happiness until "to-morrow" and so on and so forth until you just can't handle any more. Probably some of her better-known novels, such as Anna Lombard or Life of My Heart, would be a better way to experience her convention-defying stories. More info on Victoria Cross: https://victorianfictionresearchguide...