The man in the mirror was naked from the waist up. A man with a little
fold of belly showing over his belt. A man whose back, when he turned,
was well muscled at the shoulders and ridged with parallel sinews that
made a valley of the spine. A man whose strength had come through
effort and application, rather late. A man who stepped closer to the
mirror and opened his mouth to study, inside it, a small, fresh wound.
He sat down on the divan, presently, and took a cigarette from the
coffee table. Lighted it. Reached for the telephone.
And identified with himself again.