“Darcy WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT MR COLLINS Mary Howell ‘Cup of tea, Charlotte? Black isn’t it?’ ‘Lovely,’ Charlotte smiled. They were practically friends. Eliza, the only woman she would trust to cut her hair, wayward curls that needed a firm hand. Charlotte smiled again before retreating under the pile of glossy magazines and the noise of the blower and a good half hour’s staring. Weekly trips to Thin Lizzie’s on the high street were the highlight of her quiet life; a constant round of light dusti...ng, light shopping, light gardening, light strolls. Here, in Eliza’s capable, manicured hands, she had her light trim, light set and, very occasionally, low lights to mask the incipient grey. She found going to the hairdresser very pleasing. Nothing was expected of her as she sat inventing lives and intrigues for the other ladies reflected there and listening to the lop-sided conversations half drowned by mechanical sounds. The mirror in the salon was a perfect medium, allowing her to see the world yet to see only its reflection refracted many times, multifaceted yet flat like the pages of novels.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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