Class 11 English 2024 Edition www.tntextbooks.in · Section 140

years and I know its faults. I know it’s out of drawing. I know it wasn’t made for me, but it’s my face, the only one I have–” I was conscious of a break in my voice but I went on–”such as it is, I’ve learned to love it. And this is my mouth, not yours. These ears are mine, and if your machine is too narrow–” Here I started to rise from the seat. Snick! The photographer had pulled a string. The photograph was taken. I could see the machine still staggering from the shock. “I think,” said the photographer, pursing his lips in a pleased smile, “that I caught the features just in a moment of animation.” “So!” I said bitingly,– “features, eh? You didn’t think I could animate them, I suppose? But let me see the picture.” “Oh, there’s nothing to see yet,” he said, “I have to develop the negative first. Come back on Saturday and I’ll let you see a proof of it.” On Saturday I went back. The photographer beckoned me in. I thought he seemed quieter and graver than before. I think, too, there was a certain pride in his manner. He unfolded the proof of a large photograph, and we both looked at it in silence. “Is it me?” I asked. “Yes,” he said quietly, “it is you,” and we went on looking at it. “The eyes,” I said hesitatingly, “don’t look very much like mine.” “Oh, no,” he answered, “I’ve retouched them. They come out splendidly, don’t they?” “Fine,” I said, “but surely my eyebrows are not like that?” “No,” said the photographer, with a momentary glance at my face, “the eyebrows are removed. We have a process now–the Delphide–for putting in new ones. You’ll notice here where we’ve applied it to carry the hair away from the brow. I don’t like the hair low on the skull.” “Oh, you don’t, don’t you?” I said. “No,” he went on, “I don’t care for it. I like to get the hair clear back to the superficies and make out a new brow line.” “What about the mouth?” I said with a bitterness that was lost on the photographer, “is that mine?” “It’s adjusted a little,” he said, “yours is too low. I found I couldn’t use it.” “The ears, though,” I said, “strike me as a good likeness; they’re just like mine.” “Yes,” said the photographer thoughtfully, “that’s so; but I can fix that all right in the print. We have a process now–the Sulphide– for removing the ears entirely. I’ll see if–” “Listen!” I interrupted, drawing myself up and animating my features to their full extent and speaking with a withering scorn that should have blasted the man on the spot. “Listen! I came here for a photograph–a -C-SR-With the - - :