The colour of his hair, a clamorous red, was the spring of his secret sorrow. By that token he was a marked man. At irregular intervals he made frantic attempts to disguise it; but the only dye that would serve at all was a jet-black and looked like the devil in contrast with his high colouring. Moreover, before a week passed, the red would drop up again wherever the hair grew thing, lending him the appearance of a badly-singed pup.
(from The Lone Wolfe, by Louis Joseph Vance)
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