Demure little Dorothy was a writer - a perfectly acceptable, ladylike occupation in any era. She was tiny, thin, an elegant dresser, and a writer who could sheath her skewers in velvety prose, deliver a wallop from behind a dainty kid glove.

        She was also a hellraiser who could hold her own in a world of men - more than able to outdrink, outcurse and outgamble the best of them. To further add to the dichotomy, she was also addicted to doomed love affairs and suicide attempts.