In the silence I became self-conscious, self-doubting. I had never actually painted a portrait before, and I had only the vaguest notion how it was done. I wondered if I should take photographs, but I had left my camera at home. I wondered if I should sketch. My bag was by my feet. I could get a pad and a pencil. I didn’t. I was locked in contemplation of the Lion, and here and to this limited extent he was noticing and responding to my eyes. It was an indulgence of extraordinary magnitude. If I got the pad the moment would break, and I could not stand for it to be over.