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I went out into the hall and leaned over the banister, just enough to see without being seen.
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She was still on the stairs, now she reached the landing, and the ragbag colors of her boy's hair, tawny streaks, strands of albino-blond and yellow, caught the hall light.
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It was a warm evening, nearly summer, and she wore a slim cool black dress, black sandals, a pearl choker.
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For all her chic thinness, she had an almost breakfast-cereal air of health, a soap and lemon cleanness, a rough pink darkening in the cheeks.
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Her mouth was large, her nose upturned.
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A pair of dark glasses blotted out her eyes.
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It was a face beyond childhood, yet this side of belonging to a woman.
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I thought her anywhere between sixteen and thirty; as it turned out, she was shy two months of her nineteenth birthday).
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