The grapes are still marching onwards, abridging and adapting the hell out of Charlotte Brontë's best work.
Should I feel guilty saying that? That's the trouble when authors do great work. They inevitably think their other, later work is better, because they have grown and learnt. But I do like Jane Eyre better than Shirley and Villette. And I like Sherlock Holmes better than The White Company - do you hear me, Doyle?
I'm sorry, I can't help it. I just DO.
Excuse me while I guilt out. And while I do, here's the grapes...
|Grape Jane finds the family she has always wanted BY AMAZING COINCIDENCE.|