"I believe I've looked through thousands of windows before," he said, his mouth agape, "but none has ever been quite like this."
In the quiet of the room, I stood back as he circled, creating an arc from one side of the window to the other. He was studying it, looking at every detail along its frame, the reflection of the desk lamp behind us, and through the glass to the image on the other side.
He held a hand up, reaching to touch it when I stopped him, grasping his wrist with a light but purposeful hand.
"My only request is we mustn't touch the window," I said, letting go.
