The harassed look is that of a desperately tired swimmer or runner; yet there is no question of stopping. The creature we are watching will struggle … - Christopher Isherwood

Staring and staring into the mirror, it sees many faces within its face - the face of the child, the boy, the young man, the not-so-young man - all present still, preserved like fossils on superimposed layers, and, like fossils, dead. Their message to this live dying creature is: Look at us - we have died - what is there to be afraid of?

It answers them: But that happened so gradually, so easily. I'm afraid of being rushed.

Does he know about me? George wonders; do any of them? Oh yes, probably. It wouldn't interest them. They don't want to know about my feelings or my glands or anything below my neck. I could just as well be a severed head carried into the classroom to lecture to them from a dish.

I am a camera with its shutter open, quite passive, recording, not thinking.

Like a long train which stops at every dingy little station, the winter dragged slowly past.