Austen’s Regency holds its posture,
rooms arranged for watching
and being watched.
Thompson’s Victorian
weight moves differently,
a street‑side shuffle,
a coat pulled close.
Drawing rooms
with their measured warmth,
city corners with their blunt weather.
One world practises its courtesies,
the other keeps its questions
under a lamp.
Social manoeuvres,
small hesitations,
the quiet work
of choosing one’s place.
Then the harder wanderings—
a figure walking until the hour thins.
Two eras set beside each other,
not braided, just sharing
the same long hallway.
Each with its own kind of light,
each showing
what a person carries home.
.