saw himself in her eyes, suspended in two shining drops of bright water, himself dark and tiny, in fine detail,the lines about his mouth, everything there, as if her eyes were two miraculous bits of violet amber that might capture and hold him intact. Her face, turned to him now, was fragile milk crystal with a soft and constant lite in it. It was non the hysterical light of electricity, but what?
Ray Bradbury Fahrenheit 451
He
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