The fact was that he had already been struck by this fatal resemblance.
Slowly entering the room, he placed himself before the pictures, and
as he contemplated them, as he passed from one to the other, ice-like
perspiration moistened his back.
"He is quite right," he murmured, "they all resemble one another. They
resemble Camille."
He retired a step or two, and seated himself on the divan, unable to
remove his eyes from the studies of heads. The first was an old man with
a long white beard; and under this white beard, the artist traced the
lean chin of Camille. The second represented a fair young girl, who
gazed at him with the blue eyes of his victim. Each of the other three
faces presented a feature of the drowned man. It looked like Camille
with the theatrical make-up of an old man, of a young girl, assuming
whatever disguise it pleased the painter to give him, but still
maintaining the general expression of his own countenance.
There existed another terrible resemblance among these heads: they all
appeared suffering and terrified, and seemed as though overburdened with
the same feeling of horror. Each of them had a slight wrinkle to the
left of the mouth, which drawing down the lips, produced a grimace.
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