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How selfish he must think I am, she thought irascibly, ragging her long slender fingers through her hair to unravel the lacquered knots. The woman leaned further forward onto the dressing table, examining her young features and the fine structure of bones beneath her skin. Her hair was a bleached packet colour. Her brown eyes were concealed behind blue colour contact lenses. She frowned suddenly, unsatisfied, lunging over for a tissue to wipe off the muck that her face hid behind.
Red lipstick scraped onto the tissue like a thick line of blood and she looked at it for a lingering moment. Women die in non-existence in other places of the world draped in a burka and ...