In a mad moment that, even now, I don't know whether I regret or not, I made a wish, perhaps you would call it a prayer...." "I remember it! Oh, how well I remember it! No! the thing is impossible.

The room is damp.

Mildew has got into the canvas.

The paints I used had some wretched mineral poison in them.

I tell you the thing is impossible." "Ah, what is impossible ?" murmured the young man, going over to the window and leaning his forehead against the cold, mist-stained glass.
"You told me you had destroyed it." "I was wrong.