A girl asked me if she could comb my hair. Nobody can comb my hair, I can’t even comb my hair.
His tongue is by turns a sponge, a brush, a comb. He cleans himself, he smooths himself, he knows what is proper.
Under the comb, the tangle and the straight path are the same.
I might have been told to put a comb through my hair once or twice - by my mother!
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