“The last doorway on the left,” she said to herlf. It did em a bit hard that it should be the last. To reach it she would have to ast room after room. And in any room there might be the magi—asleep, or awake, or invisible, or even dead. But it wouldn’t do to think about that. She t out on her jourhe carpet was so thick that her feet made no noi.
“There’s nothing whatever to be afraid of yet,” Lucy told herlf. Aainly it was a quiet, sunlit passage; perhaps a bit too quiet. It would have been nicer if there had not been strange signs painted in scarlet on the doors—twisty, plicated things which obviously had a meaning and it mightn’t be a very nice meaniher. It would have been ill if there weren’t tho masks hanging on the wall. Not that they were exactly ugly—or not sly—but the empty eye-holes did look queer, and if you let yourlf you would soon start imagining that the masks were doing things as soon as your back was turo them.
After about the sixth door she got her first real fright. For one d she felt almost certain that a wicked little bearded face had popped out of the wall and made a grimace at her. She forced herlf to stop and look at it. And it was not a face at all. It was a little mirror just the size and shape of her own face, with hair oop of it and a beard hanging down from it, so that when you looked in the mirror your own face fitted into the hair and beard and it looked as if they beloo you. “I just caught my own refle with the tail of my eye as I went past,” said Lucy to herlf. “That was all it was. It’s quite harmless.” But she didn’t like the look of her own face with that hair and beard, a on. （I don’t know what the Bearded Glass was for becau I am not a magi.）
Before she reached the last door on the left, Lucy was beginning to wonder whether the corridor had grown longer since she began her journey and whether this art of the magic of the hou. But she got to it at last. And the door en.