“They’ll be clapping me again when I go on the stage with my hair hanging down,” Katie said in a rapt little voice.
“The Doctor was saying he would have called it a unique colour,” Harry said, as if he spoke to himself, “if there was not another girl just up the road whose hair is exactly the same.”
“I don’t believe it!” Katie cried. “She got it out of a dye-pot!”
“Not according to the Doctor.”
“I’ll scratch her eyes out if her hair’s prettier than mine!”
“Don’t worry, my precious! There couldn’t be anyone with hair like yours.”
“That’s what the dirty old Duke said! An Enchantress, he called me. He used to write cards to go with the flowers saying, ‘To an Enchantress who draws me with every hair on her exquisite head!’”
Katie laughed to herself, then asked,
“Do you know what he sai
