"I want my photograph taken," I said. The photographer looked at me without . He was a drooping man in a gray suit, with the dim
eye of a natural scientist. I began to see that I had done an unwarrantable thing in breaking in on the privacy of this man's scientific with a face like mine. The photographer rolled a machine into the middle of the room and crawled into it from behind. He was only in it a second,—just time enough for one look at me,—and then he was out again, tearing at the cotton sheet and the window panes with a hooked stick, frantic for light and air.
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