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“So this was Rosemary Shaw. The woman who had tried to get him pulled from the movie. She was nothing like Ellis had expected, when he'd imagined their meeting. No, instead, he was faced with a haughty little North American woman who looked like she'd just stepped out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Her long wavy copper hair was plaited back, exposing the smooth, pale column of her neck, and her face was framed with cat's-eye glasses that only served to accentuate her piercing gaze. She was young, younger than many of the screenwriters he knew. There was a sunniness about her that spoke of someone who wasn't yet as disillusioned with the industry as he was. Peachy, that's how he'd describe her.” — Nadia El-Fassi
So this was Rosemary Shaw. The woman who had tried to get him pulled from the movie. She was nothing like Ellis had expected, when he'd imagined their meeting. No, instead, he was faced with a haughty little North American woman who looked like she'd just stepped out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Her long wavy copper hair was plaited back, exposing the smooth, pale column of her neck, and her face was framed with cat's-eye glasses that only served to accentuate her piercing gaze. She was young, younger than many of the screenwriters he knew. There was a sunniness about her that spoke of someone who wasn't yet as disillusioned with the industry as he was. Peachy, that's how he'd describe her.