1 The wan mirrors get back their mimic life.
2 This portrait would be to him the most magical of mirrors.
3 For it was an unjust mirror, this mirror of his soul that he was looking at.
4 Shrill flaring gas-jets, dulled and distorted in the fly-blown mirrors that faced them, were ranged round the walls.
5 Then he loathed his own beauty, and flinging the mirror on the floor, crushed it into silver splinters beneath his heel.
6 A faint blush, like the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, came to her cheeks as she glanced at the crowded enthusiastic house.
7 The quivering ardent sunlight showed him the lines of cruelty round the mouth as clearly as if he had been looking into a mirror after he had done some dreadful thing.
8 The curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had given to him, so many years ago now, was standing on the table, and the white-limbed Cupids laughed round it as of old.
9 As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there.
10 He never knew--never, indeed, had any cause to know--that somewhat grotesque dread of mirrors, and polished metal surfaces, and still water which came upon the young Parisian so early in his life, and was occasioned by the sudden decay of a beau that had once, apparently, been so remarkable.