"Truly?" Angélique questioned sadly. "More executions. I suppose it shall never end." She looked down at the fan still held in her lap and traced the carving with a finger.
"England is..." Dreadful. Disgusting. Wretched. Horrible. Barbaric. "different. I miss home more than I can say. The Trianon, the gardens at Versailles, the masques and balls and the parties... I do not know how you have survived five months here. I feel as if--" As if she would rather be waiting to lose her head, but papa would throttle her for saying it "-I shall never be so happy again." She looked up at Aimé with a smile. "But never mind. You must have a secret to life in England. What do people do here?"