“The first mistake I made was being born at all, though, like most of the serious errors that may be laid at my door through life, I had no choice and little part in the matter.”
Hm, sounds pretty bad. And when did this unfortunate event take place?
“At ten o’clock of a dreary drizzling November morning…”
At least it was not a dark and stormy night, which is really quite the pity as our subject was the wife of Edward Bulwer Lytton, author of the great cliche.
He’s well enough known, of course, if mostly as a butt of cheap shots based on his failure to please current tastes in prose. Continue reading