Yevgeny Zamyatin — We [238]

The one. He stood on the steps of the sun-filled Cube. A white—no, not even white, already colorless—face: a glass face, glass lips. And only the eyes—black, greedy, engulfing holes. And the dread world from which he was but minutes away. — Yevgeny Zamyatin, We, 238

Note

Striking physical portrait of the condemned man stripped of his number and humanity, reduced to mere eyes framed by glass.