Julia looked at the lines around her mouth and lips, at the black smudges where tears and sweat had made her make-up run. It gave her a pathetic look: the look of an ageing courtesan after a bad night. No doubt César would have drawn some scathing conclusion, but Julia didn’t feel like thinking about César. She found herself praying to life to give her the necessary spirit of resignation to grow old with dignity when her turn came.
