Novelist Elizabeth Harrower has lived dangerously but kept her words to herself - The Australian

LONDON in the 1950s and in a rented room, a dark-haired Australian bends over her Oliver typewriter. She wears a woollen cap and hugs a hot-water bottle.

There's a shilling in the slot for heating but it is bitterly cold. Elizabeth Harrower, however, is in a different space, writing about the heat of Sydney and the furnace of marriage.