"What's all this?" exclaimed Wood in amazement. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people. Whether they are loved or unloved has no bearing upon this desire to test their wings, to try this new adventure, to take this leap into the dark.
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