"An imitation of life!" Steve flared. "Man, she just smiled at me. She's aware of us, I tell you."
"Sure she is. Her brain was mirrored too, every aspect of its electro-dynamic structure preserved forever by a science that's lost forever. Get a grip on yourself, Steve."
I was hot and tired and dusty. My throat was parched and I didn't feel much like arguing with him. But I had my reasons for being stubborn.
"Men have found Martian mirrors and gone mad," I said. "Don't take any chances, Steve. We don't know yet what it's rigged with. Why not play it safe? A thousand cycles of direct current should melt it down."
"Melt her down!" Steve's eyes narrowed in sudden fury. "Why, it would be murder!"
Steve got up and brushed sand from his knees. He held the mirror up so that the red Martian sunlight caught and aureoled the splendor of a face that offered a man no chance of help if he ever let go.
A pale, beautiful face, the eyes fringed with long, dark lashes, the lips parted in a mocking smile. A living image capable of mercurial changes of mood, unnaturally still one moment, smiling and animated the next.
One thing at a time, I thought. Don't drive him too hard.
"Some men have carried them about for years," I said. "But just remember what falling in love with an image can mean. You'll never hold her in your arms, Steve. And compulsions can kill."