I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. She had lost it. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. As in a dream, Melusine saw her faithful footman struck, his headlong progress checked. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. The first set of occupations seemed to her to be altogether too domestic and restricted; for the latter she was dreadfully handicapped by her want of experience.
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