The next step was the second drawing, much more finished.
He rapped the stretcher sharply with his knuckles; it responded sonorously like a drumhead, the vibration shaking the charcoal from the tracings, filling the air with a fine dust.

The outlines grew faint, just perceptible enough to guide him in the second more detailed drawing.
He brought his stick of charcoal to a very fine edge and set to work carefully.

In a moment he stopped and, with his chamois cloth, dusted out what he had drawn.

He had made a false start, he began but could not recall how the lines should run, his fingers were willing enough; in his imagination he saw just how the outlines should be, but somehow he could not make his hand interpret what was in his head.

Some third medium through which the one used to act upon the other was sluggish, dull; worse than that, it seemed to be absent.