What I love most in a novel are bright, witty sentences.
To ward off the cold, she wore as a cape what looked like a series of horse blankets with exposed seams. In the yarn shops, she did business briskly. Otherwise, she was a study in manifest chaos.
“Manifest chaos”: c’est moi.
This novel is one of few I’ve reread. If you are in the mood to be charmed by a love story with a difference, I highly recommend it. Actually, it’s two love stories, and what’s different about them is that the women are selfish cads and the men emotional wrecks who fall at their feet in worship of every little nasty thing they say. Refreshing! And very, very sweet.