chair.

"I have never seen more splendid hair," said the hairdresser
diffidently, taking up the scissors but still hesitating.

Rafael saw that his companions were on the tiptoe of expectation.
"Off with it," he said again with assumed indifference.

The hairdresser cut the hair into his hand and laid it carefully
in paper.

The boys followed every snip of the scissors with their eyes,
Rafael with his ears; he could not see in the glass.

When the hairdresser had finished and had brushed his clothes for
him, he offered him the hair. "What do I want with it?" said
Rafael. He dusted his elbows and knees a little, paid, and left
the shop, followed by his companions. They, however, exhibited no
particular admiration. He caught a glimpse of himself in the glass
as he went out, and thought that he looked frightful.

He would have given all that he possessed (which was not much), he
would have endured any imaginable suffering, he thought, to have
his hair back again.

His mother's wondering eyes rose up before him with every shade of
expression; his misery pursued him, his vanity mocked him. The end
of it all was that he stole up to his room and went to bed without
his supper.