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He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward.
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