"God!”
Out of nowhere, leaping, a foil-length mirror rushed at him and banged him full body and face.
Only the sudden vision of his own eyes — appearing hideously magnified by their closeness — made an instinctive recoil and lessened the shock as he smacked full-tilt into his own reflection. What angered him was the real shock to the nerves it had given him in a childish place meant for amusement
"Now let's consider this!" Martin said, unaware he was speaking aloud.
"Looking-glasses can't suddenly move across in front of you. Any more than a lot of beach-chairs can rush at you and push you off a roof."
That was a grisly thought. What brought such an idea into his head?
"Therefore," he argued, and still aloud to all his ghost-selves, "there's an explanation. This mirror I ran into: it's the end of the passage I was trying to reach.
"Got it! A mirror at the end of the passage gives a double length of reflection. You judge it by the floor. If it looks twenty feet away, it's actually only ten. I went tearing forward, like Grandmother Brayle, and as a result—!" He stopped.
That was a sound, not from his imagination, clearly if very faintly heard, which registered with him. It was, 'Brayle,' or 'Lady Brayle.'
Despite its layers of looking-glasses and its double roof, the Mammoth Mirror Maze was not exactly soundproof. Nobody could mistake the slowly gathering roar from a little distance away, to Martin's heighted senses carrying a note of anger; the shouts; the heavy drumming of crowd-feet across open grass.