Eventually, Susan's hair is a smooth, shining stream down her back. It's queer - she hasn't felt the need to pose or put on airs to impress Lancelot despite the mundanity of the act of working out her tangles. Instead she feels surfeited by his warm presence at her side. The soft look in his eyes cuts through to the quick of her, and she finds herself so fiercely glad that he's here, in her room, in her life.

She leans back over him to set the brush back in its place. The ends of her hair slide over his chest, and she takes a moment to kiss him then, soft and sweet.