In such a nook as this Cornelia would sit and read all the day long, and put lotus flowers in her hair, look down into the water, and, Narcissus-like, fall in love with her own face, and tell herself that Drusus would be delighted that she had not grown ugly since he parted with her.
So passed the winter and the spring and early summer months; and, however hot and parched might be the city under the burning sun, there was coolness and refreshment in the gardens of the palace.
With it all, however, Cornelia began to wax restive.

It is no light thing to command one's self to remain quiet in Sybaritic ease.

More and more she began to wish that this butterfly existence, this passive basking in the sun of indolent luxury, would come to an end.

She commenced again to wish that she were a man, with the tongue of an orator, the sword of a soldier, able to sway senates and to lead legions.

Pothinus finally discovered that he was having some difficulty in keeping his cage-bird contented.