"What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. "Dying, Sir Rowland. And this damning evidence―’ with a brusque gesture at the portrait ‘―must also be destroyed. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber.
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