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"He laid his fingers on my shoulder. His hair had a reasonable and fashionable look to
it�that is, it was clipped and combed and not full of dust. His clothes were clean and
new, too, as if he had perhaps dressed for me.
I smiled to myself at that, his dressing for me. But from time to time he did, and when
I saw that the shirt had antique buttons of gold and pearl, I knew that he had, and I
accepted that the way a sick man accepts a cool cloth on his forehead." -Lestat Anne Rice, Memnoch the devil |
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