Occasionally he would stop, step backand review his progress. Cut, comb, observe, repeat, comb, observe. Henever seemed to need to cut the same lock... more than once. After about15 minutes, he stepped away, holding the comb at his shoulder, like amarksman, who had just fired his pistol, and looked at my hair one moretime. "Okay, we're ready to style."Taking a blow dryer and a round brush, he carefully combed out my hairas he pointed the dryer at the brush. In some places he made it. ‘I am,’ I said as I went over and kissed him. ‘I’m in love.’ ‘Then so am I,’ he replied, returning my kiss, ‘for I’m in love with you.’ With that, we went off to eat. When we went to sit down I gave out a groan and he looked at me in alarm. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked anxiously. ‘That,’ I said pointing to a big parcel by my seat along with my papers and delivered letters. ‘My manuscript.’ I explained that about a month earlier I had sent it off to my agent for correcting as it was my new. More

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