She wrote of prejudice and pride,
Of sensibility and sense.
She wrote of love, sometimes requited, sometimes not;
All in an age of elegance (for those who could afford it)
She never found romance herself,
Or, when she did, declined it.
She realised, perhaps, that what she wrote
Bore no resemblance to the real life she knew.
No Darcy there to rescue her,
No...
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