“I wanted to know,” he said.
She turned aside, breaking the spell. In some strange way, she felt he was getting power over her.
“Well, I can’t tell you already,” she said.
She went to the mirror to take out the hairpins from her hair. She stood before the mirror every night for some minutes, brushing her fine dark hair. It was part of the inevitable ritual of her life.
He followed her, and stood behind her. She was busy with bent head, taking out the pins and shaking her warm hair loose. When she looked up, she saw him in the glass standing behind her, watching unconsciously, not consciously seeing her, and yet watching, with finepupilled eyes that seemed to smile, and which were not really smiling.
She started. It took all her courage for her to continue brushing her hair, as usual, for her to pretend she was at her ease. She was far, far from being at her ease with him. She beat her brains wildly for something to say to him.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” she asked nonchalantly, whilst her heart was beating so furiously, her eyes were so bright with strange nervousness, she felt he could not but observe. But she knew also that he was completely blind, blind as a wolf looking at her. It was a strange battle between her ordinary consciousness and his uncanny, black-art consciousness.
“I don’t know,” he replied, “what would you like to do?”
He spoke emptily, his mind was sunk away.
“Oh,” she said, with easy protestation, “I’m ready for anything—anything will be fine for me, I’m sure.”