Selfie

A extract from a novel in which a famous author slips in his or her own self portrait.

“Estella, take him down. Let him have something to eat, and let him roam and look about him while he eats. Go, Pip.”

Having dismissed them Miss Havisham summoned her manservant, Wiseman, who hovered nearby eager to overhear anything which he could subsequently weave into a whimsical tale to amuse his adoring devotees. Wiseman was, indeed, an imposing figure, upright and handsomely hirsute with beard and billowing bundles of hair above both ears to detract attention from his balding crown. “Madam?” he said, addressing her with feigned obsequiousness.

“Did you see the boy?” she enquired. “Is his heart breakable?”

“Undoubtedly,” Wiseman replied, welcoming the opportunity to expand at length on how the child’s dreams might be dashed.

“Enough,” snapped Miss Havisham fearing his story would never end, “and dispose of that wretched duster! Forget the cobwebs!” Thus did Wiseman retreat having no further role to play in the ensuing saga.