[89b] beside his couch, and his seat was a good deal higher than mine. He stroked my head and gathered the hair on the back of my neck into his hand—he had a habit of playing with my hair on occasion—and said, “Tomorrow, perhaps, Phaedo, you will cut off this beautiful hair.”“I suppose so, Socrates,” said I.“Not if you take my advice.”“What shall I do then?” I asked.“You will cut it off today, and I will cut mine, if our argument dies and we cannot bring it to life again.
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