The Pity of the Picture

For a moment he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy that existed between him and the picture might cease. He would never again tempt by a prayer any terrible power. If the picture was to alter, it was to alter. That was all. Why inquire too closely into it? For there would be a real pleasure in watching it. This portrait would be to him the most magical of mirrors. As it had revealed to him his own body, so it would reveal to him his Own soul. When Winter came upon it, he would still be standing where spring trembles on the verge of summer. Not one blossom of his loveliness would ever fade. Not one pulse of his life

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