Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. He savored the last solo, the coda. As for the doctor, he found a pleasure in this service that would have puzzled him had he paused to analyse it. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not.
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