Anne Elliot is twenty-seven. She's been twenty-seven since 1817, the year Jane Austen's Persuasion was published. I, meanwhile, was somewhere around sixteen when I first read the book in my old childhood bedroom, with its green walls and arboreal wallpaper.
Why did this story, which is so happy, make me so sad? Why did I forget so many details of Persuasion's story over the years, but unfailingly remember that Anne Elliot is twenty-seven?
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