He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever.
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