She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Heaven alone knows why. You look like a movie star. Nice, of course. “There were some Hampshire Pellissiers. Skin astonishingly clear except for a spray of blackheads on each side of her nose. “Who can tell?” she said.
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