Daisy doesn’t look herself. I mean she looks herself but there is something about her that tells me that it isn’t how she looks. True, she still has those tufts of hair that her eyes peek out from and that big bushy beard. At the same time, it seems that she is somehow beneath this. I imagine shaving off the beard, the eyebrows and the floppy locks of hair and turning her into a pointy-nosed poodle. Would that be your face, Daisy? I ask. Show me your true face! Daisy twitches an eyebrow. Trust you to ask that! she replies. You who look for faces everywhere! And with that she fixes her eyes on mine and slips back into the world that has turned its face from me.