Miss Fisher enquête, tome 17 : Murder on a Midsummer Night

Phryne was making a list of invitees for her birthday party. She would be twenty-nine on the thirteenth of January. A serious age. Most of her contemporaries were long married and rearing children, husbands and tennis coaches in utter suburban happiness. She caught a glimpse of herself in the drawning room mirror as she reached for a Turkish cigarette and her lighter. A small young woman with a boyish figure, dressed in a house gown of scarlet and gold. Her hair was as black as a crow's feather and cut in a cap, just long enough to swing forward in two divinely modish wings. Her skin was pale and her mouth red ans her eyes a strong shade of green.
"You don't look twenty-nine," she told her reflection. "You're lovely!"
She blew the mirrored Phryne a kiss [...]