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There is no dignity in dyeing
From Spectator Life
Growing up, like a lot of English girls, I was what was known as a ‘dirty blonde’. (An evocative phrase, the Dirty Blondes are now variously a theatre troupe, a pop group and a restaurant.) In the summer, I would put lemon juice on my hair and watch in wonder as it bleached in the

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Farewell to Frederick Forsyth, the master of the thriller
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