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Her flaxen hair silhouettes her face like a golden halo. The tresses drape her Quaker features. Blessed by Mona Lisa's detachment, she is oblivious to my covert eyes. I admire her from afar because she belongs in a live art gallery. Does she have a voice? I have never heard her speak. But her silence intrigues, and I wish it to last so that her mystique maintains its sacred glamor and infuses this dim world with mystery.