"Even her hair, she thought, running her fingers impatiently through the damp golden brown ringlets that curled romantically around her face. A Botticelli angel, a boy in college once called her, begging her to let it grow. Right! That was all she needed: wild curls cascading down her back like a doomed Shakespearian virgin, or a rock star."

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Source : Naomi Ragen (2001). “The Ghost of Hannah Mendes”, p.70, Macmillan

Naomi Ragen

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