Her name was Stella, and she did not like her name. Her hair was quite lustrous, but she did not like her hair, either, and stood combing it jerkily before a glass which possessed in its midst one of those unfortunate waves capable of drawing the face of the beholder into a sad and sometimes startling distortion. Nor did she take the trouble to keep out of range of the wave, which proved beyond any reasonable doubt that things were not going very well with her.
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