He sat perfectly still. After seeing him, I think I shall never describe anyone in our own time as 'perfectly still' again. His stillness was not like that of a man asleep, nor like that of an artist's model: it was the stillness of a corpse. And oddly enough, it had the curious effect of making one think that it must have begun suddenly – as if something had come down like the blade of a guillotine and cut short the Man's whole history at a moment. But for what followed, we should have thought that he was dead or that he was waxwork. His eyes were open, but the face had no expression, or none that we could interpret.
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Excerpts drawn from the writings of C.S. Lewis as noted above; used with permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
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