She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. 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. ” “The real, identical other,” said Capes, and took and bit the tip of her little finger. She must be beautiful, but beauty is only the beginning.
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