The mere enumeration of the obstacles that existed would have deterred any spirit less daring than Sheppard's from even hazarding the attempt. He knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. Dear God, what a beautiful moment!" The fire went out of Spurlock's eyes and the shadow of hopeless weariness fell upon him. “Don’t you care for Mr. Rummage, my boy, do. Mirrors.
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