You shall tell me if I am wrong. Winter came at the manor. ‘Tell me, my boy. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. Are these folks your current foster parents?” “Yes. \"Oh, that's okay, I do better if I study alone.
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