Then, with his mouth still slightly open in wonderment, he looked at himself in the mirror. He saw a boy—a young man, really, although of course no one treated him as such—with sensitive hazel eyes looking out of a thin, somewhat longish face crowned with limp flaxen hair. He lowered his pale, suddenly tragic-looking eyebrows and closed his expressive lips, then pushed his jaw out and squinted. Another two or three days, he supposed, and he might have to shave again. Well, would shave again, anyhow. Before that, though, those few little tiny wisps he knew were trying to sprout upon his chin would still be all but invisible, eventually to be descried only by the close scrutiny of a young man aching for a reason to use the clean-stropped steel. Ah, how the poor boy wished to be able to show
