“Allow me,” said Lorelei. Sylvia clutched the comb to her chest as if Lorelei had just asked her to hand over her firstborn. “Why?” “Because this is unspeakably painful to witness. I’m not entirely heartless.” Sylvia reluctantly placed the comb in her outstretched hand. Lorelei knelt behind her, lifted the weight of Sylvia’s hair, and let it fall down her back in a wild spill. It was mercifully still damp; Lorelei did not want to imagine the nightmare of wrestling a comb through it dry. She began to work through the knots from bottom to top. Nothing but the sound of their rasping breaths and
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