Bertha had been something of a sucker for
astrology and had found he was born under that sign before she agreed to
their little good-by party. He snorted to himself. It had done her a
heck of a lot of good, which was to be expected of such nonsense.
They passed down a dim corridor and Ser Perth turned in at a door.
Inside there was a single-chair barber shop, with a barber who might
also have come from some movie-casting office. He had the proper wavy
black hair and rat-tailed comb stuck into a slightly dirty off-white
jacket. He also had the half-obsequious, half-insulting manner Dave had
found most people expected from their barbers. While he shaved and
trimmed Dave, he made insultingly solicitous comments about Dave's skin
needing a massage, suggested a tonic for thinning hair and practically
insisted on a singe. Ser Perth watched with a mixture of intentness and
amusement. The barber trimmed the tufts from over Dave's ears and
clipped the hair in his nose, while a tray was pushed up and a
slatternly blonde began giving him a manicure.
He began noticing that she carefully dumped his fingernail parings into
a small jar. A few moments later, he found the barber also using a jar
to collect the hair and shaving stubble. Ser Perth was also interested
in that, it seemed, since his eyes followed that part of the operation.
Dave frowned, and then relaxed.
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