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"
What
in
the
world
have
you
done
with
your
hair
?
"
"
Do
you
like
it
?
"
"
I
love
it
.
Always
wear
it
that
way
.
"
"
I
wasn
’
t
sure
you
’
d
like
it
.
Margie
said
you
’
d
never
notice
.
Wait
till
I
tell
her
you
did
.
"
She
set
a
bowl
of
flowers
on
her
head
,
the
yearly
vernal
offering
to
Eostre
.
"
Like
it
?
"
"
I
love
it
.
"
Now
the
young
got
their
inspection
,
ears
,
nostrils
,
shoe
-
shines
,
every
detail
,
and
they
resisted
every
moment
of
it
.
Allen
’
s
hair
was
so
plastered
that
he
could
hardly
blink
.
The
heels
of
his
shoes
were
unpolished
but
with
infinite
care
he
had
trained
a
line
of
hair
to
roll
on
his
crested
brow
like
a
summer
wave
.
Ellen
was
girl
of
a
girlness
.
All
in
sight
was
in
order
.
I
tried
my
luck
again
.
"
Ellen
,
"
I
said
,
"
you
’
re
doing
something
different
with
your
hair
.
It
becomes
you
.
Mary
,
darling
,
don
’
t
you
like
it
?
"
"
Oh
!
She
’
s
beginning
to
take
pride
,
"
Mary
said
.
We
formed
a
procession
down
our
path
to
Elm
Street
,
then
left
to
Porlock
,
where
our
church
is
,
our
old
white
-
steepled
church
,
stolen
intact
from
Christopher
Wren
.
And
we
were
part
of
a
growing
stream
,
and
every
woman
in
passing
had
delight
of
other
women
’
s
hats
.
"
I
have
designed
an
Easter
hat
,
"
I
said
.
"
A
simple
,
off
-
the
-
face
crown
of
thorns
in
gold
with
real
ruby
droplets
on
the
forehead
.
"
