I am in love with Francesca Annis as Lady Ludlow. LOOK AT HER. She’s all, “I just stepped off the McQueen runway to be amazing and pretend my son SEPTIMUS is not gay, because I have on a gray wig that’s three feet high and I’m standing in for Empire as it crumbles all around me. That’s why there are literally ashes in my hair.”
Also: Can we get a count on just how many British novels use the railroad as a stand in for modernity? Or would it be easier to count the ones that do not?