How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought?
No matter how cleverly you sneak up on a mirror, your reflection always looks you straight in the eye.
Ms. Wright turns her face to look at herself, reflected in the window. The reflections of her reflections of her reflections, between the window and her black sunglasses, all those Cassie Wrights shrinking smaller and smaller, until they disappear into infinity.
Self-reflection is a vice best conducted in private or not at all.