Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. “Please forgive me. “Do you like my dress?” “Yes, the dress is beautiful, but you are much more beautiful than any dress. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp.
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