The mirror – Portrait of Victoria Newell. It was a whisper that spun her so. A lingering whistle that kept her close. And though still, she swore they moved. Her lips into a smile just as quickly removed. But then, again, she saw in her eye. A narrowing, a glower, oh nature defy! Surely mistaken, she looked once more. At the mirror, at the girl whose resemblance she bore.