Valens Lapsley, ../../../ (1923)
“ THERE is no electric light in the lumber-room, so I lighted a small oil lamp which we keep for emergencies. When I had set this lamp on a chest in my lonely quarters, I saw before me the dingy old portrait of Dame Walcott gazing down from the canvas with an expression which seemed to mock at me as the fitful light illumined it. The little green eyes seemed to see everything I did and to watch every movement I made. The physiognomy of the old dame had struck me more than once, just as it would anyone who liked to study human faces best for what they tell of life's experiences. ”
