364. She sat, as serious as an animal, knitting a scarf. She said nothing. He rolled the paper napkin and waited. She looked out the window. -Nothing- she said. He looked at her eyes and followed them out the window. The portrait, a photograph, had been made so that my grandmother was looking just over the head of the observer, into a little distance, not so far as to be a space into which she might seem to be staring, but at some definite object, some noun, just behind one. Picking up the mirror, he placed it six inches in front of the photo. As the napkin fell from his hand, between the two, it held in the gaze reflected, spinning slowly.