“You haven’t cut your own hair!” I exclaimed. As any barest acquaintance would. Professor Fletcher pulled back slightly, his eyes blinking in panic question. He absently lifted a hand to the back of his head. “Is there something amiss with my hair, Miss Lion?” “Nothing,” I stated. “That’s the problem. You look quite dashing. Did a barber cut it for you?” “My sister?” He said it like a question.
