"It was in the attitude of
one that had crept along the floor on its belly, and it was, so far as
could be collected, a human figure. But of the face which was now rising
to within a few inches of his own no feature was discernible, only
hair. Shapeless as it was, there was about it so horrible an air of
menace that as he bounded from his chair and rushed from the room he
heard himself moaning with fear: and doubtless he did right to fly."
"He was a very beautiful person, and constantly wore his own Hair,
which was very abundant, from which, and his loose way of living, the
cant name for him was Absalom, and he was accustom'd to say that indeed
he believ'd he had shortened old David's days, meaning his father, Sir
Job Charlett, an old worthy cavalier."
"He was found in the town ditch, the hair as was said pluck'd clean
off his head. Most bells in Oxford rung out for him, being a nobleman,
and he was buried next night in St. Peter's in the East. But two years
after, being to be moved to his country estate by his successor, it was
said the coffin, breaking by mischance, proved quite full of Hair."
M.R. James, The Diary Of Mr. Poynter
I wouldn't like to find that in my soup, that's for sure.
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