If you cut it off yourself, mind how you do it so as to keep all the locks one way." He showed her how this was to be done.
"But I sha'nt," she replied, with laconic indifference.

"I value my looks too much to spoil 'em.

She wants my hair to get another lover with; though if stories are true she's broke the heart of many a noble gentleman already." "Lord, it's wonderful how you guess things, Marty," said the barber.
"I've had it from them that know that there certainly is some foreign gentleman in her eye.

However, mind what I ask." "She's not going to get him through me." Percombe had retired as far as the door; he came back, planted his cane on the coffin-stool, and looked her in the face.

"Marty South," he said, with deliberate emphasis, "YOU'VE GOT A LOVER YOURSELF, and that's why you won't let it go!" She reddened so intensely as to pass the mild blush that suffices to heighten beauty; she put the yellow leather glove on one hand, took up the hook with the other, and sat down doggedly to her work without turning her face to him again.