A scrap of glass which held a single eyebrow had skidded under his desk. Gone into hiding. I reached for it, but Gifford pulled at my shoulders saying, "Clara, Clara, don't worry about the mirror—"
"Just let me get this." I tried to pull from him. Gifford was strong for someone so pale. I seized the scrap of glass with the eyebrow. "I'll pay for the mirror, but I need to keep this—"
Gifford drew me to my feet. "Please. Sit down. You're bleeding."