"I looked sick, my skin leached of blood, like meat soaked in water [...] At least I can still call my hair my own, though it fizzes upwards as if I've been electrocuted. Beneath it there are glimpses of scalp, the greyish pink of mice feet. If I ever get caught in a high wind my hair will all blow off like dandelion fluff, leaving only a tiny pockmarked nubbin of bald head."
-Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin
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