All you see are eyes.

The icy eyes of the magistrates.

The clouded eyes of the girls.

The wide-open eyes of the audience.

And the soft, sad eyes of a few old friends.

Neighbor after neighbor accuses you.

One saw your specter fly from the Parris household, then turn into a blood-red hawk.

Another recounts how your specter attacked her by night; teeth marks line her right arm.